


Ithaca

by LMA



Category: Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 31,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMA/pseuds/LMA
Summary: When a mysterious ship is found floating in hyperspace, Sinclair goes to investigate and ends up in the middle of a conflict between the Religious Caste, the Warrior Caste, EarthDome and the ship's inhabitants.  Meanwhile, Sakai and Garibaldi enter into a high-stakes contest for superiority.  Work in progress.





	1. Chapter 1

ITHACA  
by Laura M. Appelbaum

 

“And then, that hour the star rose up,  
the clearest, brightest star, that always heralds  
the newborn light of the day, the deep-sea-going ship  
made landfall on the island … Ithaca, at last.”

“Pause,” Catherine Sakai directed her book reader before checking her navigational display to make sure she was still on the right hyperspace beacon. Three hours, she observed; after two weeks away on a survey run, she was only three hours from home. She smiled to herself; when exactly in the last eight or nine months had she started thinking of Babylon 5 that way, as home? Sinclair had slipped back into her life with such finality that it was hard to believe they'd spent most of the previous fifteen years fighting or broken up. Now they were living together again and didn't seem to argue about anything more serious than Sinclair's continued propensity to plunge headfirst into danger, but then she really couldn't talk given the risks in her own job. There were still issues left silent between them, as Sinclair remained a man who kept a lot of emotional secrets, but she'd finally come to realize that if she wanted him in her life, she'd have to accept that. 

Her reveries were abruptly broken by a computer alert.

“Proximity alert! Approaching unknown vessel.”  
“What? Where? Show me.” Against the swirling red currents of hyperspace, she could see a small bluish dot. “Magnify.” As the image of the ship grew on her screen, so too did her surprise. The ship was some six-hundred and seventy meters wide and eight hundred meters long, with a sinuous shape and a light blue skin mottled with the turquoise dots and dashes associated with Minbari ships. But it was unlike any Minbari ship she'd ever seen. Perhaps half the size of a Minbari Cruiser, it was on the other hand far, far larger than any of their flyers or transports she was familiar with and of an unknown configuration. Maybe Minbari and yet not quite right. It just seemed to be hanging there in hyperspace, floating along with it rather than heading on a clear course. “Computer, match unknown vessel to any Minbari ships on record?”  
“No match found.”  
“Does it match any ships on file?”  
“Negative.” Sakai frowned.  
“This is Catherine Sakai of the Earth survey ship Skydancer to unknown vessel, do you copy?” Silence. She tried another channel. “This is the Earth ship Skydancer to unknown vessel; do you need assistance?” She repeated the message a few more times but got no response. She logged its location figuring she'd report it once she arrived at B5, where Sinclair could decide whether or not to investigate it and shrugging, turned back to “The Odyssey.”

 

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Garibaldi,” Sakai greeted the Security Chief at the gate as she presented him with her identicard.  
“Hi, and welcome back, Catherine,” he smiled. “I know one man who'll be especially glad to see you here.” She lifted her bag onto her shoulder.  
“I'll bet. I've missed him too. How is he?”  
“Fine. Broke. Last night started out as vid night; we put on what turned out to be an awful Twenty-First Century science fiction movie: 'Phantom Menace?' It was so boring; just a bunch of aliens sitting around in a room talking, that we turned it off half-way through and decided to play cards. I got Jeff drunk and wiped him out.”  
“How'd you do that?”  
“Well, in the course of an investigation I came across a bottle of whiskey; too good a vintage for the low life who smuggled it in, so I brought it along with me. Of course I don't drink and it was just the two of us … somehow he never noticed I kept refilling his glass,” Garibaldi grinned, “though there just might have been some misdirection on my part here and there.”  
“That's like cheating, you know.”  
“No one said he had to keep picking up the glass,” he shrugged.  
“How much did you take him for?”  
“About two hundred credits.”  
“He must be pissed.”  
“Yeah, I assume once he woke up he was.”  
“Thanks a lot. Now I'll have to pay for dinner all week.” Garibaldi put up his hands and made a face as if to say he was sorry, except that he really wasn't. “Do you know where he is? I have something to report to him as Station Commander.”  
“Last I heard, he was in C and C. Anything interesting?”  
“Maybe, probably,” she teased.  
“You wanna tell me about it?”  
“Sure. But it'll cost you two hundred credits,” she grinned, holding out her hand.  
“Forget it. I'm not that interested.”  
“Suit yourself,” Sakai said, and headed through the lounge.


	3. Chapter 3

“Excuse me, Commander,” Sakai said from the doorway of Command and Control.  
“Catherine! What are you doing here?” Sinclair asked happily, turning from the main console to face her. She stepped, a little gingerly, into the room. This was his turf and she didn't want to come off to the rest of his staff as if she thought it was their living room.  
“I have something to report to you, Commander. About three and a half hours ago, I came across an odd ship in hyperspace. It was painted like a Minbari vessel, but it didn't match anything in my computer records at all. I tried hailing it but got no response. It seemed to be just drifting out there.”  
“Minbari? Drifting?” he asked, intrigued.  
“Well, it was and it wasn't Minbari. I dunno what it was to be honest.”  
“In your professional opinion was it a hazard to navigation?” He asked it evenly, but she could sense an eagerness on his part, so she answered accordingly.  
“It might be. And it might be in trouble. That's why I thought I should report it to you.” He glanced at a chronometer.  
“I'm supposed to go off-duty in an hour,” he mused out loud, “but if it's a ship in distress … and it might be a First Contact situation ...” He tapped on his link. “Sinclair to Ivanova.”  
“Ivanova,” she said a bit dully, as if he had just woken her up.  
“Lieutenant-Commander. What would you say if I told you there was an outside chance of a First Contact in front of us? I know you're off-duty and I could always take Garibaldi, but ...”  
“Don't you dare! I mean, Commander, sir, I can meet you at the docking bay in ten minutes.”  
“You have forty-five minutes. I have to talk to someone else before we go.” He looked at Sakai apologetically. “I'm sorry, Catherine, but ...”  
“What? You think I didn't know this would happen when I came up here? These are the coordinates. I'll see you later … Commander.” She smiled at him and left Ops.  
“Sinclair to Ms.Talia Winters.”  
“This is Talia. What is it, Commander?”  
“Can I meet with you in the business center? I have a proposition for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Winters.”  
“No problem, Commander; what can I do for you?”  
“I'm headed out to investigate a report of an unidentified ship. It may simply be an unfamiliar Minbari ship but it's also possible that it represents an unknown civilization. First Contact protocol requires the presence of two members of the Command staff, but it doesn't direct for or against the presence of anyone else. It occurs to me that if it turns out to be a group of people we've never encountered before, it might be a wise to bring along someone who can convey that we have peaceful intentions even if we can't communicate verbally.”  
“I can't scan anyone without their permission, Commander ...”  
“And I'm not expecting you to. But I want to avoid any situation even remotely like the one that took place when the Prometheus met the Minbari for the first time; in an emergency you might be able to save lives. Look, I know there's a lot of risk involved, so I'm prepared to offer you the equivalent of Earth Force combat pay for a day of service. It's quite a substantial amount of credits.” Talia mulled over the offer. “You could be very helpful to us in this, Ms. Winters,” he petitioned with one of his inviting smiles, and she could sense the excitement running through him. It might, she reflected, be interesting to do something more than simply help negotiate another business agreement.  
“Just so we're clear, I won't scan for anything beyond surface thoughts without consent...”  
“Not a problem,” he answered her. “I can't guarantee your safety, but we'll do all we can to protect you out there; we'll be heading over in a shuttle, but I'm bringing along Delta Squadron just in case.” She looked at him and he smiled again. It was such an endearing smile.  
“Alright. I'll go with you.”  
“Terrific. I'll see you down at the main docking bay in half an hour,” he paused and bowed his head a little at her. “Thank you, Ms. Winters.”


	5. Chapter 5

“You comfortable, Ms. Winters?” Sinclair asked, looking back over his shoulder at her as she strapped herself into a seat in the shuttle.  
“Yes, thank you.” Why didn't he ask me that question before inviting her, Ivanova thought, not at all pleased with the prospect of spending at least six hours in a shuttle with a telepath. But it was that or pass up what could be the opportunity of a lifetime.  
“Alright, Lieutenant-Commander, take us out. Delta Wing, launch.” The small convoy headed away from Babylon 5 and through the jumpgate into hyperspace. “Well, this is it, Ms. Winters. Please feel free to entertain yourself with any of the vids or music in the library. It'll be a while until we reach the reported location of the ship.”  
“I'm good for now, thank you, Commander. I've never been on a mission like this before; have you?”  
“No,” answered Ivanova curtly.  
“Not exactly,” said Sinclair. “This will be new territory for all of us,” he continued enthusiastically.  
“Delta Seven to Delta Three, how'd last night at the Dark Star turn out?”  
“Delta Three, we have a civilian aboard,” Sinclair warned. “Please moderate your chatter accordingly.”  
“Sorry, Delta Leader.”  
“It's fine,” Winters assured Sinclair. “Whatever it is, I'm sure I've heard worse before. I'm trained to block thoughts,” she elaborated, “but particularly … earthy thoughts tend to be very loud and hard to ignore.”  
“We'll take that under advisement, won't we, Lt. Commander?” Sinclair joked casually.  
“Yes sir,” Ivanova answered. She was going to be monitoring her own thoughts closely throughout this mission, no matter what they were. Besides, he was the only one of them to have someone to think “earthy” about; that girlfriend of his was awfully good looking … She glanced back at Talia Winters. Did she just hear me thinking that? Damned telepaths.  
“Have you scanned many alien minds?” Sinclair inquired.  
“Not often. It can be a very tiring experience making sense of alien thoughts. Some races more so than others. Minbari minds, you might be surprised to learn, are very much like our own. But the Narn and Centauri are more difficult and scanning a Drazi once during a contract talk was especially draining. There's a whole series of classes designed to ease and familiarize a telepath with alien minds, but it was a sub-specialty I never pursued beyond the basics.”  
“Interesting,” Sinclair said. Oh shut up, Ivanova thought; did he have to keep talking to her, reminding me she's here? She would have expected Sinclair to be more sensitive than that, but he seemed genuinely interested in the conversation.  
“You don't mind the discussion, do you, Lt. Commander?” he asked, turning his attention to her as if he had been reading her mind.  
“Oh no, of course not, Commander. Anything to pass the time,” she lied. He seemed all-too-good at that, she reflected. He was too observant for her tastes sometimes. Almost like a telepath! But soon the two were droning on, bantering back and forth and Ivanova tried her best to tune them out. This expedition had better turn out to be worth it, she thought.


	6. Chapter 6

“This is a pleasant change,” Garibaldi said to Sakai as they split a pizza in Sinclair's quarters.  
“I thought you enjoyed getting together with Jeff after work.”  
“Yeah, but he hates pepperoni and you're better looking,” Garibaldi teased.  
“You hit on me and I'm breaking your fingers off one at a time.”  
“Yowch.”  
“Just making sure we're clear on where we stand,” Sakai smiled mischievously.  
“Quite clear. Totally clear. Besides, I'd never hit on you; it's the number one rule of the unstated male friendship code.”  
“Is that so? What are the other rules?”  
“Always provide an alibi, join in on a fist fight, back 'em during a break-up, no dating sisters without explicit permission; there's a whole bunch of them. Goes back centuries.”  
“Jeff's never mentioned this.”  
“Nah, he wouldn't; you don't discuss the code with girlfriends,” he offered.   
“Is this part of the thing where you don't use the next urinal over?”  
“No, that's universally understood. Well, except by the Llort. They don't seem to have any social skills. How'd you know about that anyway?”  
“Because we know most of your secret rules. Especially the phony alibi part. Jeff and Bill Mitchell used to do that all the time.”  
“Why? Was he seeing someone else on the side?”  
“Hell, no! You think I'd put up with that? But some of their squadron buddies … there's a reason fighter pilots have the reputation of being lady's men. And the women on the team were just as bad.” Garibaldi nodded, wondering why that rep didn't also include Security Officers who occasionally flew Starfuries themselves.   
“Wanna watch a vid?”  
“What do you have in mind?”  
“Only my second favorite thing in the universe.” Sakai frowned at him.  
“Isn't 'don't watch porn with your best friend's lover' on that list of yours?”  
“No, no; nothing like that. I'm talking Duck Dodgers cartoons.”  
“That's your second favorite thing? Cartoons?”  
“Yeah. What's yours?”  
“A variation on the first.”  
“What's third?”  
“Flying.”  
“Jeff gave me the same list once. You and he were made for each other. So what do you suggest we do?”  
“How about a game of cards?”  
“Why; you think you're gonna win Jeff's money back for him?”  
“No. But I might win it back for me.”  
“Okay, you're on.”


	7. Chapter 7

The strange ship loomed in front of them. As Sakai had described, other than the paint job, it looked nothing like a Minbari ship in either size or configuration. It appeared to be able to comfortably hold three hundred or more people; an odd size for either a warship or a transport.  
“What do you make of it, Lieutenant-Commander?” Sinclair asked as he studied the ship intently.  
“Definitely unfamiliar. The design is nothing like that of any Minbari ship I've ever seen.”  
“Me either,” he noted, “and God knows I saw plenty of them during the War. Delta Wing, hold position. Computer, transmit message. This is Earth Force Commander Jeffrey Sinclair, please identify yourselves. Do you need assistance?”  
“Delta Leader, gunports on the unidentified ship are open.” Sinclair and Ivanova exchanged glances.  
“We're not going to make that mistake again,” Sinclair acknowledged. “Are they loaded?”  
“Negative.” The two breathed sighs of relief.  
“Any response at all to my message?”  
“No, sir.”  
“Scan for life forms.”  
“Scanning. Eighty life forms detected,” Ivanova informed him.  
“Well good; someone's at home. What else can you tell me about the ship?”  
“Hull of polycrystalline alloy, magnetogravitic drives that seem to be malfunctioning, electromagnetic pulse canons, fusion laser mounts.”  
“Hmm. So signs do point to Minbari origin. Still, let's not jump to any conclusions ... Continue to hold formation, Delta Wing. Under no circumstances are any ships to fire without my expressed order. If fired upon, take evasive action. Understood?”   
“Affirmative, Delta Leader.”  
“We're going in.” He turned and looked at Ivanova. “Let's do this thing.” As they closed in on the docking bay, the first of a series of doors opened for their craft to enter. “Looks like we're being welcomed aboard,” Sinclair remarked. “or else it's an automated system.”  
“Or perhaps we're being lured into a trap that will result in our early demise.” Sinclair gave Ivanova a look.  
“Good to know I can count on your boundless pessimism, Lieutenant-Commander,” he commented in a cheerful voice, a smile playing on his lips.  
“Yes sir. Someone has to be realistic about this,” Ivanova retorted as the last of the doors closed behind them. Sinclair steered them in and all three marveled at the appearance of the bay; it was formed by soaring arches and the translucent lavender walls seemed lit from within. “It looks more like a cathedral than a ship's docking bay,” Sinclair remarked.  
“If this is the bay, I wonder what the rest of the ship is like?”   
“Let's find out,” he answered enthusiastically as he made a smooth and comfortable landing. “Atmosphere?” he asked Ivanova.  
“A little thin, but breathable.” They unbuckled from their seats and stood up, Sinclair bent over slightly to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling of their ship. He stepped out and cautiously looked around before signaling to the others to follow. “Artificial gravity,” he noted to Ivanova. “Whoever they are, they're as far ahead of us technologically as they are aesthetically.”

They took a longer look around and noted a pair of ships slightly larger than their shuttle parked on one side of the hanger. Unlike the main ship, they were unadorned. Sinclair and Ivanova moved cautiously, their hands on their PPGs and Winters followed them with equal care. They exited the bay and entered a smaller space stacked high with cargo boxes. Sinclair pointed at the top of one of them, which had completely collapsed and was so full of dust it mounded over the sides like a thick comforter. 

“Looks like it's been one hell of a long time since they last got a delivery,” Sinclair said, and Ivanova nodded, frowning slightly. 

They navigated through the maze created by the boxes and a door opened at the far end. There they entered a hallway so heavily bounded by plant life they could hardly push their way through it. Plants grew from hidden pots on the floor as well as from wall-mounted planters that were likewise barely visible between the leaves and vines. Some of the stems were larger than Sinclair's forearms and many of the vines were twice as thick. The intense jungle-like green was backlit by the glowing walls, creating an effect more Earth-like than even the Core on Babylon 5. No one spoke for a while as they took it all in. Ivanova broke the mood.

“We've found an interplanetary florist shop.”  
“I've never seen anything like it,” Winters exclaimed breathlessly.  
“I'm assuming it's for air purification, but I guess it could be for commercial purposes ...” Sinclair's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of an opening door. He took a deep, calming breath and squared his shoulders as someone approached.

They were three unusually tall, thin but muscular Minbari men with oddly sculpted and perforated bone crests that towered above their heads in a manner none of them had seen before. In contrast to the typically colorful and heavily layered garments they associated with the Minbari, these three wore fairly simple-looking white and tan tunics of a silk or rayon-like fabric with bandage-style leggings and muted purplish coats. Carefully, Sinclair folded his hands in front of his chest in the shape of a triangle and bowed to them in the traditional Minbari greeting. Then he addressed them in his best Adrinato.

“I'm Earth Force Commander Jeffrey Sinclair; we saw that your ship is drifting and tried to hail you. When you didn't respond, we became concerned. We're here to offer assistance if you need it.” The three Minbari exchanged puzzled glances. Sinclair tried repeating his statement in the little Feek, the Worker's Caste language he knew, but again the Minbari only stared at him. Finally he readdressed them in the the tongue he had the best command of; the simple and direct Warrior Caste language of Lenn'a. This got some sort of response; there was a look of recognition in their eyes and the three began to whisper together. One of them gently parted some plants and stepped boldly towards Sinclair.   
“It's alright; they're very confused,” she informed him.  
“Commander ...” Ivanova warned as the Minbari closed the distance between them. Warily, he held his ground. The Minbari formed his gloved hand into a fist and before Ivanova or Sinclair could react, punched Sinclair square in the chest. He flinched, but kept his cool.  
“We're here to help,” he repeated in Lenn'a, and the man punched him again, harder this time. Sinclair's immediate impulse was to push him back with both hands. Before he could try to apologize for that violation of First Contact protocol, the other man smiled. He then opened his hand and ran his fingers slowly across the hair atop Sinclair's head, finally touching his ears and jaw and then fingering his uniform.   
“Talia?” Sinclair turned to Winters for an explanation as the Minbari returned to his companions.   
“They don't understand who or what we are.”  
“I didn't think my Minbari was that bad,” he said in disappointment.  
“It's not just the language … they aren't sure we're even real.” Sinclair frowned.  
“Not real? We're here to help,” he tried again in both Lenn'a and English. “We're here as friends.”  
“Friends … ? Minbari?” asked the other leader, replying for the first time.  
“Yes, we're friends of your people. Really,” he assured them to another bewildered stare. “We live with Minbari on Babylon 5.”  
“They're still confused. I don't think they understand most of what you're saying,” Winters said. The three Minbari began talking to each other again and the one who had approached Sinclair barked out what was clearly an order to the other two, one of whom then left the room.  
“I only recognize a few of their words,” Sinclair told his team. “It sounds like Lenn'a, but it's not, exactly. And I've never seen Minbari with crests like that before, have you?”  
“Never,” Ivanova assured him. “But otherwise they certainly look Minbari. They have the same pale complexions, blue patches on their scalps, the same facial features and general build.”  
“They're Minbari,” Sinclair agreed, “but they're not our Minbari.” Every time he said the word Minbari there was recognition in the leader's steel grey eyes.  
“Delta Two to Delta Leader!”  
“Delta Leader here,” Sinclair said into his link. The Minbari looked puzzled again, watching Sinclair's motions suspiciously.  
“Commander, we're beginning to drift off the beacon.”  
“Keep track of it. Reconfigure into a lifeline if you have to. We're going to be here for a while,” Sinclair warned. Moments later the Minbari who departed earlier returned with a woman who also had an enormous and strangely carved bone crest. Unlike the others, at the peak of it, far above her forehead, there was a large hole in which a red crystal hung from a silver loop.  
“She's a telepath,” Winters recognized instantly. “She's scanning you, Commander.” Sinclair was more discomforted by that development than he was with being struck and fondled, but he maintained his stoic demeanor.  
“Can you scan her back? Communicate with her?”  
“If she's willing, I'll try.” Carefully, Winters held her hand out to the other teep, who looked hard at it. Reluctantly, she pulled off her glove and offered it again. The Minbari brought a long string of beads out from her robes and draped it over Winter's neck before hesitantly taking Winters' hand. There was a long silence and then Winters shuddered.  
“Talia?” Sinclair asked worriedly. “Talia?” She pulled away abruptly and shook her head, her blonde hair flying.  
“They're Minbari, but they've never met aliens before. They believe they're the only Minbari left in the universe and until now, maybe the only people at all.”  
“What?” Ivanova asked incredulously.  
“They were all born on this ship. They've been floating in hyperspace their whole lives.”  
“How can that be possible? How could they have survived? Why didn't someone on board send out a distress call?” Ivanova protested.   
“They didn't send one because they didn't know there'd be anyone to receive it,” Sinclair realized. “It's a generations ship. Most of them predate hyperdrive engines and the discovery of jumpgates. They're designed to be a kind of interstellar ark on which the original occupants live out their lives with their descendants continuing the journey. They're self-sustaining; providing their own energy, air, food and water. It's an old idea first proposed in the early days of spaceflight, but Earth never built any; we chose cryopreservation instead. Until now, I didn't know the Minbari made them. Any idea how long ago and for what reason their progenitors left Minbar?”  
“I'll try to ask.” Winters made another telepathic inquiry and as soon as the other woman retrieved her rosary, she pulled back, discombobulated.  
“They've lost track of how many generations ago it was. Their stories say there was a conflict in which Minbar was about to be destroyed, but that's all she seems to know. Either the specifics have been forgotten or she's not privy to them.”   
“Well obviously that never happened,” said Ivanova. “How do you misremember something like that?”  
“There's probably a lot about Minbari history we don't know. Something significant must have taken place to prompt their voyage,” offered Sinclair. Talia Winters looked away, squeezing her eyes shut and bringing her hand to the bridge of her nose. “Are you alright, Talia?” Sinclair asked with concern as he reached out to touch her shoulder.  
“Yes, I … it's just very different being in her mind. It's … unlike the other Minbari minds I've been in. There are so few common points of reference. Her mind was full of the strangest images of what she thought Minbar and normal space and the other places and races mentioned in their stories would look like.” She closed her eyes momentarily before continuing. “Plus her shock is intense; as I said, they thought they might be the only people left. It's a bit overwhelming,” she apologized. Sinclair glanced over to where the four Minbari now stood together, talking in an animated fashion. Probably, he thought, having a similar conversation.  
“I'm sure it must be,” he said. “We know what race they are, but for them it's turning out to be very much the First Contact experience we prepared for. Imagine spending your entire life lost in hyperspace.” He spoke thoughtfully, but there was no hiding the raw amazement in his eyes. “Imagine not knowing what happened to your homeworld. It's incredible.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Damn, you're good,” Garibaldi complained as Sakai counted her money.  
“You have no idea,” she taunted suggestively. Garibaldi laughed nervously.  
“I mean at cards; you're very good at cards. The code, remember? Gimme one last shot to win it back; double or nothing.”  
“No, I'm tired. I'm going to call it a night.”  
“Aw, come on, you gotta give a guy a chance.”  
“Sorry, no.”  
“Catherine, be fair.” She shook her head.  
“It's late, Michael. Time for you to go.”  
“It's only twenty-two hundred, you said you didn't have a survey run to ...”  
“Out.” She stood up.  
“Catherine ...”  
“Do you really want me to have to tell Jeff you were still sitting around when I went to take a shower? Doesn't 'alone in close-proximity to friend's naked girlfriend' break a rule?”  
“Alright, alright. Rematch? Tomorrow?”  
“Goodbye, Michael,” she said, walking him to the door and letting it close in his face. “Three hundred credits,” she mused to herself. “Not bad.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cautiously, Sinclair re-approached the man who'd punched him. 

“We're Humans,” he offered, gesturing at the three of them. “Humans,” he said pointing at himself. “Minbari,” he pointed to them. “Friends,” he added using the few words he knew they understood while locking the fingers of both his hands together. The leader nodded his head. He pointed to his own chest.  
“Shai Naia Niann, Minbari,” he said. Sinclair recognized 'Naia,' as a term referring to one of a ship's officers; whether that was only on civilian vessels or used by the Warrior Caste, he didn't know. But they did have those gunports.  
“Sinclair, Human,” he offered back. Niann tried the strange syllables out until he got them down to where Sinclair nodded in the affirmative.  
“Yes. Sinclair.”  
“Sinclair,” the Minbari repeated, punching him again. Sinclair rolled his eyes and again shoved back since the Minbari seemed to appreciate it the last time. As long as the worst thing that came out of this encounter was the trading of a few bruises, he'd call it a success.   
“Sinclair,” he repeated, pointing to himself again. “Niann.” Then he pointed to the other two men and the telepath.  
“Naia Tranen. Naia Burell. Traveh Mayan.” Sinclair nodded and repeated the names, although 'Traveh' was a mystery to him; he didn't know if that was part of her name or a title.  
“Ivanova. Winters,” Sinclair offered in turn, indicating his companions. Niann studied the two women carefully, then laughed, jabbing Sinclair again and saying something he couldn't translate. “What? I don't understand?” he asked in Lenn'ah.  
“Ti'nar?” Niann repeated and Sinclair frowned blankly. Niann responded with an almost-universally understood gesture.   
“No,” Sinclair protested quickly, hoping the others hadn't seen it. “No. I'm Shai Alyt,” he tried, “she is Alyt.” Niann stopped leering and looked at Sinclair with clear disappointment, complaining to him rapidly with more unintelligible words. “Talia?” Sinclair appealed.  
“His surface thoughts are alternatively carnal and angry. He became angry after whatever you last said to him.”  
“I told him I was in charge and Ivanova was my second. He must have thought our relationship was … something different,” he apologized euphemistically.  
“Exactly what are you implying he's implying?” demanded Ivanova, darkening.  
“Sinclair … friend ... come … see,” Niann directed, finding another pair of common words and saving Sinclair from having to reply to Ivanova. Sinclair nodded and gestured to Ivanova and Winters to follow. The other Minbari fell in at the back of the procession and everyone trailed out of the room behind Niann into a narrow hallway that, like the walls in the hanger, had an unusual, even glow and an abundance of plant life. He stopped in front of a door that opened to reveal a tremendous arched space packed with rows and rows of alternating sets of horizontal shelves and banks of thousands of lights. Small green, pink and orange plants grew far into the distance in continuous, linear arrays on the shelves. Niann said some words Sinclair couldn't make out.   
“Is this for flarn?” he guessed.  
“Flarn!” Niann exclaimed back, and once more he struck Sinclair, this time on the upper arm. Fed up, Sinclair slugged him back. Niann began to laugh and soon they were standing there in the middle of a huge hydroponics operation, exchanging body blows; Niann far more enthusiastically than Sinclair.   
“Typical male bonding,” Ivanova muttered to Winter's soft laugh.  
“Okay, enough,” Sinclair declared in Lenn'a.  
“Okay,” Niann agreed, expanding their joint vocabulary by two words. As they resumed walking, he moved into Sinclair's personal space, almost touching shoulders with him. Sinclair edged away inconspicuously, but as soon as Niann noticed the distance between them, he sidled in again. Sinclair tried not to frown.   
“It's an impressive operation,” Ivanova remarked as she studied it all.  
“There's quite a wide range of plants too; their diet doesn't seem all that restricted given the situation,” Sinclair admired. “One of the concerns about building generations ships was that the food could become so monotonous that even if it was sufficiently nutritious, it would become completely unpalatable.” 

Niann lead them further and then stopped by an enormous, low trough on the floor in which water was recirculating continuously. There were tall bamboo-like grasses growing inside.

“More food?” Sinclair asked, touching one of the plants. Niann immediately lashed out, tearing Sinclair's hand away from the plant and shouting angrily. Finally he hit him with a blow that was not friendly at all.  
“Ooh-kay,” Sinclair mumbled to his team, “clearly we shouldn't touch the plants.” He locked his hands behind his back. “Flarn?” he ventured again once Niann seemed to have calmed down.  
“No ...” Niann began, going on to explain in his language and then, recognizing Sinclair didn't understand, finally tugging on his own sleeve.  
“Ah. Apparently they turn this into fabric,” Sinclair told Ivanova and Winters.

Just then a Minbari with gardening tools came around the corner. He turned sheet white upon seeing the Humans and dropped his equipment. Niann called the man over and he stepped forward hesitantly. Sinclair braced himself for what he suspected was coming next. Sure enough, Niann belted him.

“Human. Shai Alyt Sinclair ...” Niann explained amidst a rapid series of other words. The hydroponics technician came closer and reached out with an open hand to push against Sinclair's chest. His mouth dropped open. Then, as Niann had done, he touched Sinclair's hair and garments. He pointed at Ivanova.  
“He wants to see if you're real too,” Winters explained. Ivanova stiffly tolerated the gardener's hand petting her hair, but when he went to grope her breasts her instincts kicked in and she punched him. The man staggered back frowning and Sinclair turned to face her as Niann laughed.  
“He can punch me back all he wants, but he's not feeling me up. Sir.”  
“I think he got the message,” he said wryly.

Niann barked out some orders in his language and he and the original two other Minbari led Sinclair's team down another leafy hallway, this one kept trimmed and neat, and into another room. In it several dozen men sat closely together at several low tables, talking and laughing as they ate directly off the tabletops using their bare hands. The food was piled communally in the center, although there were individual bowls of liquid in front of each man. At the sight of the strangers they cried out almost in unison and stood up. Niann commenced with his ritual of explanations punctuated by enthusiastically punching Sinclair. Several men walked over and felt the peculiar apparition for themselves.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Sinclair mumbled uncomfortably to Ivanova, but both she and Talia Winters were being subjected to inspection as well. Finally, Niann led them down the hall to a similar room where the occupants were all women. He waved his arms expansively at the women at one table. Several women rose to their feet, but unlike the men, they didn't approach but only stared.

“Ti'nar,” he said again.  
“Any idea what he's saying?” Ivanova asked.  
“I think he's in some kind of sexual relationship with them,” Talia answered.  
“With all of them?” Ivanova asked incredulously. Winters just nodded and Sinclair looked from the women back to Niann curiously.   
“I'm surprised; It was my understanding that the Minbari are especially serious about their monogamy,” he mused. “Maybe it's just a rumor, but I heard there were a dozen rituals they performed before even dating. On the other hand, the Minbari on B5 certainly don't practice the gender separation we're seeing here.”  
“As you said, sir,” Ivanova offered, “these are not our Minbari. But I fail to see what's so special about him.”  
“Well, he does seem to be in charge,” Sinclair noted. Ivanova shrugged dismissively, and despite himself, Sinclair felt vaguely insulted. 

Niann gave another order and they headed down the corridor again. A full tour of the ship commenced; they entered various rooms and in the occupied ones encountered other inhabitants who all expressed shock, fear and disbelief in succession. Niann showed them staterooms, another hydroponics growing room, a water generation facility, restrooms and waste reclamation centers, a few sections with manufacturing equipment and several rooms filled with giant, colorful crystals that could have been anything from art to engines. Each of them had varying amounts of plants along the walls, including the restrooms, several of which had a wall of urinals that had plants growing on the back wall of the device. Two of the other rooms contained some kind of insects. In one, there were thousands of boxes in which singing cricket-like bugs jumped about, and in the other a different kind of insect had filled hundreds of frames that nearly spanned the distance from one wall to another with fine, silky threads.

“Analysis?” Sinclair asked Ivanova.  
“I'm assuming those are sources of protein and more fabric making materials.”  
“That's my conclusion as well. But did you notice how underpopulated the place seems to be? It seems strange for a generations ship to be running with just a skeleton crew,” he puzzled.  
“Perhaps they're so concerned about using up their resources that they've been overcompensating when it comes to birth control methods.”  
“Maybe,” Sinclair replied, “maybe,” but he didn't sound convinced. “At any rate, are you studying everything as closely as I am?” he asked Ivanova with a smile.  
“Thoroughly, Commander. No Humans have ever been aboard a Minbari vessel before,” she stated, ignorant that memories from the War had come back to him. “We now know more about Minbari ship design and technology than anyone back home. Unfortunately, all we know is that the insides of their ships are designed like a combination of a church and a greenhouse and their equipment looks like it's made out of specimens from the Russian National History Museum's gems and minerals exhibit.”  
“You're right; Catherine would have a field day here. Some of it reminds me of a sculpture Delenn's been assembling in her quarters, but I have no idea what, if anything, it or any of what we've seen is or does. But I expect you'll describe it as best you can in your report.”  
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a short nod. Niann noticed the whispering behind his back, and addressed Sinclair.  
“ … you think?”  
“Nice ship,” Sinclair offered, literally at a loss for more words.   
“Come … center,” Niann replied dramatically as he gestured to Sinclair to enter the next room. Inside there were seats mounted behind consoles covered with crystals and a large view screen that gave a dizzying look out into the endless red expanse of hyperspace. It was the only place they'd been that was plant free.  
“How does this work?” Ivanova asked.  
“I don't know enough of their language to ask. Hopefully we'll get an explanation once we can communicate better.” Sinclair walked up to the screen, or maybe it was a window, and pointed to a pair of Starfuries.   
“Those are our ships,” he explained in Lenn'a, but Niann only frowned. Sinclair went back to basics, pointing to himself and then the ships. “My ships. I'm Shai Alyt of those ships. We came from normal space. We can take you there. We can take you to Minbar.”  
“Take ... Minbar?” Niann asked. “There is no Minbar,” he asserted in the first full sentence Sinclair could comprehend.  
“Yes there is. You can go there.”  
“... Can't … be … ” Sinclair picked out of Niann's remarks. “There is no Minbar … ship … can't … ”  
“Ours can.” He pointed to the ships again, made a fist, and dragged it sideways. “They can take you. Do you want to go?”   
“Go … where?”  
“To my Station. To our home,” he offered. Niann walked over to the other two Minbari men and began talking with them too rapidly for Sinclair to catch any further words. Then he spoke to the telepath, who walked up to Sinclair. She draped her beads over his head and adjusted them around his neck, then abruptly pulled him down to sit on the floor with her. Sinclair glanced briefly at Winters, who nodded. She and Ivanova followed suit, hoping it was the appropriate thing to do. When Niann, Burrell and Trenan also sat down, the three Humans breathed easier.  
“She's scanning you again, Commander.” Sinclair nodded.  
“We want to help,” he said, returning her direct gaze. Without breaking eye contact, Mayan withdrew something from a pouch under her coat, held it up and began a long intonation of unfamiliar words. She threw the objects down and the Humans saw they were small crystals, carved into unusual shapes. As she studied them, Niann leaned forward toward her eagerly.  
“Some kind of divination?” Ivanova speculated. “I'd have thought the Minbari were too advanced for that kind of thing.”  
“Maybe,” Sinclair wondered back, sotto voce, “or a blessing for the journey? Of course,” he admitted, “it could be anything. I don't understand a single word she's saying; it seems to be another language entirely.” When she was finished Mayan took her beads back from around his neck. Niann turned to Sinclair.  
“Take … go.” Sinclair decided that was consent.  
“Delta Leader to Delta Wing. Grapple hold of this ship and reverse our heading.”  
“Affirmative, Delta Leader. Moving into position now. Grappling on.”  
“Positive on grapple,” another pilot reported.  
“Positive on grapple,” the others eventually echoed and the Minbari ship shuddered slightly. 

As the vessel began to move purposefully for the first time in his life, Niann shouted out in surprise and threw his arm across Sinclair's broad shoulders as if they'd been friends forever, pulling him into a tight and prolonged embrace. Sinclair tensed up and Ivanova had to stifle a laugh by coughing. He looked at Winters for an explanation.

“He's grateful,” she shrugged.  
“Terrific.”   
“We … move!” Niann declared, jumping up as he followed the trip on the view screen. Burell and Trenan were punching one another and shouting as Niann's next words echoed outside the room.   
“He's alerting the rest of his people,” Sinclair recognized as he caught the meaning of a few of his words. “Imagine what this must be like for them, Ivanova,” he marveled as they all stood up. “They and unknown generations spent their entire lives drifting aimlessly in hyperspace, like Ulysses on the wine-dark seas. They have no idea what they're about to encounter, but they're brave enough to go,” he admired. “We're going to the jumpgate,” he said in Lenn'a to Niann, even though he was sure he wouldn't know what he was talking about.

Over the course of the next three hours, Sinclair and Niann stared at one another while they tried to find more common words. They found some they both knew and tried to teach each other new ones while everyone else stood around staring at the random currents of hyperspace while waiting for the convoy to reach the gate; the Minbari enraptured, Talia Winters monitoring for any negative emotions or impulses and Ivanova walking around studying things. At last, they reached their destination.

“What …?” Niann asked as the four part structure came into view.  
“Jumpgate,” Sinclair said in Lenn'a. “Watch.” The vortex crackled open and they burst out the other side into normal space. The Minbari collectively cried out in astonishment. Niann punched Sinclair once more, then dragged him into a bear hug again and intentionally butted the side of his head with his bone crest. Sinclair winced painfully.  
“No, it can't be!” Niann and his companions kept shouting, “no, it can't be!”   
“He's not only surprised, Commander, he's very afraid but he's trying to hide it. They're all afraid.” Winters explained as Niann continued to grip Sinclair with one arm. Niann began exclaiming something else to Sinclair that he couldn't make out. “He's also questioning whether what's happening is real.”  
“I don't doubt it.” He carefully extracted himself from Niann's arm and tapped his link. “Delta Wing, take us into orbit around Babylon 5.” Patiently, he pointed out Epsilon 3, the Station, orbiting ships and maintenance bots and tried to label them for Niann and his thunderstruck men. “Niann, welcome to our home,” he invited again. “Come with us.”   
“Home …? Human home?”  
“Yes, There are Minbari there too.” Niann shook his head and waved his arm.  
“This is … Minbari home.”  
“They live at my home too.” Niann clearly wasn't buying it, but he let Sinclair lead them back into the hall. “Do you want to go there and see?” he continued while gesturing in simple sign language again. Before responding, Niann pulled Mayan aside with a few short words. “I wish I could speak more of their language,” Sinclair said to Ivanova and Winters. “Hopefully Delenn and Lennier will have better luck.” Mayan left Niann's side and then walked back over to Sinclair. Gripping her rosary, she stared into his eyes again. “She's scanning me, isn't she?” he asked Winters, who nodded. Again Mayan said something to Niann. He returned to Sinclair's side and grabbed him again.  
“We go.”

The group retraced their steps back down the leafy corridors to the docking bay. Along the way they were joined by a stream of curious onlookers and the introductory routine was carried out again and again; Niann punched Sinclair, then another Minbari hit him in turn, Niann repeated Sinclair's name and rank, the Minbari inspected Ivanova and Winters, Ivanova punched back. By the time they got to their shuttle, the group numbered several dozen, Sinclair's shoulder and chest were well tenderized and Ivanova was shaking out her hand.

“Niann, Tranen, Burell, Mayan,” Sinclair invited, striding over to the craft and holding his arm stretched out in encouragement, but with a few sharp words Niann ordered Mayan to stay behind before walking over to the Earth Force transport with Tranen and Burell.  
“Let's go.” Sinclair ushered the men inside and showed them how to strap themselves into their seats. After he left them in order to sit in the pilot's seat, the three began compulsively touching every surface. 

“Ivanova, take us out; slowly,” Sinclair instructed. As soon as they lifted up, Niann reached forward to clutch Sinclair's shoulder in alarm. Again, Sinclair cringed at the unwanted contact and Ivanova smirked at his predicament. There were only a few people in his life that he willingly let into his personal space and this strange Minbari was not one of them. Still, the behavior pointed out to him just how different these people were from the Minbari he knew; they were as reserved as Niann was physically expressive. 

As they pulled out of the bright docking bay into hyperspace and a shadow passed across the ship, Niann began screaming, squeezing Sinclair so hard he nearly cut off his circulation. Trenan and Burell actually began to weep out loud, terror in their voices. Sinclair glanced back.  
“Talia?”  
“They're petrified,” she said.  
“Of what?” Ivanova asked.  
“Without scanning one of them deeper, I can't say for certain. At leaving their ship for the first time, maybe?”  
“It's okay, you're safe,” Sinclair told them, but whether or not they understood him seemed to make no difference. The three hunched over in their seats and shifted as close together as they could get without undoing the safety restraints, Trenan and Burell locking arms. Niann babbled quickly in a high strung voice. “What is it Niann? What's wrong?” Finally, Niann lifted an arm and pointed across the shuttle to the dark corner where Talia Winters sat. They all looked her over. “What is it, Niann? Why do you think you're suddenly frightening him? Can he sense your surface scan?”   
“He hasn't given any indication that he can. I'll try to block his thoughts, but ...”  
“Not everyone appreciates telepaths,” Ivanova snapped. At Sinclair's sharp look she tried to make it seem less personal. “Just an observation of fact.”  
“He seemed perfectly comfortable with his own telepath,” Winters retorted.  
“This is not the time nor the place,” Sinclair ordered. “It's okay, Niann, I promise.” Niann shook his head and kept pointing. “Hopefully Delenn will be able to find out what it is once we're on B5,” he commented to his Human companions. “It's okay, Niann, it's okay,” he repeated, unable to do anything more to comfort them.

As Babylon 5 grew closer and closer to the returning shuttle and the Starfuries towing their ship, Sinclair tried to explain what was happening with their limited shared vocabulary.  
“That's Babylon 5. That's our home. It's okay.” He turned back to his console. “Sinclair to Babylon Control. We're coming in and we have guests. Please have Ambassador Delenn and Mr. Lennier meet us in the arrivals lounge.”  
“Confirmed, Commander. You are cleared for landing at Alpha gate, beacon one.”  
“Affirmative. Alpha gate, beacon one,” Ivanova acknowledged. They pulled into B5's huge docking bay and maneuvered through the passageways to their final destination. Once they docked it took ten or fifteen minutes to get the newcomers to follow Sinclair out of the shuttle and into the Customs Lounge, where they seemed to visibly relax.

“Welcome back, Commander,” Garibaldi greeted Sinclair at customs. “Woah, who are they?”  
“Catherine found a ship lost in hyperspace. This seems to be their leader, and they his seconds. Niann, Tranen, Burell; Garibaldi. Oh, be prepared to be ...”  
“Ow! What the hell?” He reached for the handle of his gun, but Sinclair put out his hand to stop him from drawing it.  
“It seems to be his way of verifying we exist or maybe it's just a greeting. It's a little unclear. This is a First Contact situation for them. Ah, Ambassador Delenn, Mr. Lennier. I apologize for bothering you so early in the morning but ...” Delenn's eyes grew as large as Niann's as she noticed him. The latter was immediately transfixed. “We found a generations ship lost in hyperspace, Ambassador. There are seventy-seven others still on it. They were born there, and they thought before this moment that they were the only living Minbari.”  
“In Valen's Name, I've never seen anyone wear their crests like that.” She said before following up with the Religious Caste's gesture of greeting; hands folded into triangles, deep bows. Lennier followed suit. Niann stared blankly at them just as he had done to Sinclair when he'd saluted him the same way.   
“They seem to speak some form of Lenn'a I'm unfamiliar with,” Sinclair told them. Lennier looked to Delenn for permission and tried to greet the three newcomers verbally. Niann frowned, evidentially more troubled than when he'd first encountered Sinclair. Slowly he moved towards Lennier. “He may punch you,” Sinclair warned, “but not out of hostility.” Instead, Niann went first for Lennier's bone crest, grabbing roughly at it. Then he appraised Delenn and mumbled to his companions. Finally, he threw two hard blows at Lennier before speaking. Lennier shrugged off the blows as his eyes lit up. He responded to Niann, then explained to Sinclair and Delenn what was going on.  
“He has an unusual accent, but he's clearly speaking Lu'shon, the ancient root language of Minbar. It is, as you noted, most similar to Lenn'a, but all three modern languages and ninety-seven dialects and sub-tongues are based upon it. While it is necessary to read Lu'shon to understand some of Valen's writings, no one but scholars have spoken it in at least six hundred years. You are familiar with our modern languages?” he asked Sinclair.  
“I'm familiar, if not entirely fluent. But I do seem to have a natural ability when it comes to learning languages; I know five Human languages and a bit of each of yours. How difficult is it to learn Lu'shon?”  
“As a linguistics expert, you should find it quite simple.”  
“I wouldn't go that far,” Sinclair protested with a self-depreciating smile. “What is Niann saying?”  
“To you he said 'impossible, this is impossible.' Now he is asking what I am.” He turned back to Niann and spoke to him in Lu'shon again. “I just told him I'm an acolyte and Delenn's aide, but he repeated the question. I suppose that isn't a sufficient explanation for him; I will try to elaborate.”  
“Have you checked them for weapons?” Garibaldi cut in with his own concern.  
“No, and I'm not going to try,” said Sinclair after some consideration, while Lennier resumed his conversation with Niann. “I don't want to seem hostile or confrontational. They're clearly overwhelmed; I doubt they pose a threat.”  
“And if you're wrong?”  
“I assume all responsibility for the consequences.”  
“Easy for you to say; if there are any, I'll be the one mopping you off the wall.”  
“They each have a denn'bok; it is a ceremonial weapon of the Warrior Caste,” Lennier announced after consulting Niann. “You are correct in assuming it would not go well if you were to attempt to take them away.” He spoke some more with their unusual guest. “This is odd. He does not seem to understand my questions about what caste they belong to, despite owning a denn'bok. Nor did he understand my reference to the Religious Caste. However, he says you met their shaman. We Minbari do not have shamans.” He paused while Niann spoke once more. “He believes he may be hallucinating. And he wants to know how you are living without plants here?”   
“Ask him how how he and his two friends could all be imagining this at the same time. Explain to him we're all real.”  
“Yes, Commander. Hmm. He believes you are real. He believes Mr. Garibaldi is real. He does not believe Delenn or I are.” Niann turned to Sinclair and addressed him rapidly. “He asks you to stop performing magic on them. He says they recognize you have supernatural powers and that he's greatly impressed by the level of detail in your illusions, although he wonders why you have conjured up adult-sized Minbari with what he perceives to be children's bone crests. Of course,” Lennier sniffed, revealing a touch of pride, “it is their appearance that is non-normative.”  
“Did you tell him I'm not trying to trick him?”  
“I am afraid they are convinced otherwise.”  
“Talia?”  
“I don't know how I can assure them this experience is real any better than Mr. Lennier can. They're extremely confused.” Lennier turned again to Niann and they spoke for a while, Niann growing louder and more emphatic as the exchange went on and looking at Sinclair through the entire conversation.   
“He simply does not believe me when I say we're from Minbar. He insists that his crew are the only Minbari in the universe and that it is impossible for anyone else to be from Minbar because it was destroyed. That is obviously inaccurate.”  
“Inaccurate? It's pure bullsh ...” Sinclair silenced Garibaldi with a sidelong glance.  
“Mr. Lennier, did a major calamity ever threaten your planet?” he asked. “Something so long ago that people were speaking Lu'shon when it happened?”  
“Hmm,” thought Lennier, and his face suddenly brightened. “In the days and months before Valen, we were badly losing a great War. Our largest base was destroyed and it appeared that the end was near for our civilization. If I recall correctly, several ships were built to evacuate small groups of people from our homeworld. We hoped they would find a safe haven and that the crews would perpetuate our culture there. But accurate records about what happened to those ships is lacking due to the chaos of the era. I do not dare to make any conclusions,” he said with a nod to Delenn, “but it might be possible that these men are the descendants of those who fled.”  
“Before Valen? Surely these people haven't been lost in hyperspace for a thousand years?” Sinclair said incredulously.  
“I share your surprise, Commander,” Delenn assured him. “But Lennier is correct; there was such a mission and we have never been able to account for two of the ships. We presumed they were destroyed. Perhaps we were wrong. Lennier, please ask him how long their ship has been in hyperspace and what its name is.”  
“Yes, Delenn.” He spoke with Niann. “His ship is the Ro'sha. He does not know when they entered hyperspace; only that it happened before the days of his great-grandparents. I asked him why they haven't repaired their drive engines and he says that their computer database is corrupted. They are only capable of doing those things that have been passed down through oral tradition.”  
“Corrupted? Oral tradition? That does suggest they've been out there a long time. But if it's really been a thousand years, I'm amazed they've kept any part of the ship going at all, let alone keep alive all the plant life we saw,” Sinclair mused before turning his attention to his own people. “Now that we have Lennier to translate, you're free to go, Ms. Winters. Your help was invaluable; thank you.”  
“This has been fascinating, Commander. If you need me again, just call.” Sinclair nodded gratefully to her.  
“You too, Ivanova; go catch some sleep. I look forward to reading your report tomorrow.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“We will gladly take them from here, Commander,” Delenn said. “As they are our people we became responsible for them the moment we became aware of their existence.”  
“Technically,” he said gently, “as long as they're here aboard Babylon 5 their wellbeing is my responsibility, not yours. But I appreciate your offer of assistance. I'm sure we can work together on this,” he said with a smile. Delenn returned it with a pleased nod. “Since they're having such trouble believing what they've seen so far, we probably shouldn't expose them to too much at once,” Sinclair said thoughtfully. “Garibaldi, is there a back way we can get them to Delenn's quarters that'll avoid crowds and other overstimulation?”   
“Well, we could take 'em through the service corridors; nothing but pipes and fans and other equipment. It'll take a lot longer but yeah, that would work.”   
“Alright then, Garibaldi, lead on.”


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as they left the well-lit passenger lounge, Niann grabbed Sinclair again and spoke fearfully, this time pointing in multiple directions.  
“There's something that's been frightening them since we left their ship, Lennier. What is it?”  
“He is saying 'where is the light? Where is the light?' I'm not sure I understand ...” Lennier began quizzing Niann for more details. “Ah. It seems he is talking about shadows.”  
“Shadows? They're afraid of shadows? What are they, like two years old?” Garibaldi mocked.  
“Their ship was fully lit everywhere we went; even the walls glowed. They must never have seen such a contrast between lightness and darkness before,” Sinclair reasoned, chiding his friend.  
“I will explain the relevant laws of physics to them,” Lennier assured him with his usual enthusiasm.

It was a long walk through the Station's infrastructure to get to Green Sector, made all the longer by the new Minbari's understandable insistence on periodically stopping to inspect one piece of equipment or another, and their panic whenever the lighting conditions changed. Lennier tried to continue speaking with the three newcomers but they mostly ignored him and Delenn and kept addressing Sinclair, despite the language barrier. At some point along the way, Niann reattached himself to Sinclair, who shot a look at Garibaldi. But Garibaldi wasn't going to let such a perfect opportunity to harass his friend pass him by. 

“Should I warn Catherine about the competition?” he whispered as they stopped in front of Delenn's door. “I'll take that as a 'no,'” he added upon Sinclair's fierce glare.  
“I don't think we need your services any longer, Chief,” Sinclair said firmly.  
“We are at Ambassador Delenn's quarters,” Lennier announced in Lu'shon and English as the door opened. This time it was Niann who went stiff with discomfort. He immediately complained about the cluttered, claustrophobic and unpleasant nature of the room in words Lennier only reluctantly translated.  
“Their ship and quarters were very spartan,” Sinclair explained in a face saving attempt. “And most of their rooms had no doors.”  
“Then they must all be members of the same clan,” Lennier presumed. “Privacy as you Humans understand it is not important within one's clan, but outside of it it would be most inappropriate for others to see what individual clan practices are. I will inquire.” Sinclair watched Lennier's face as he conversed with Niann and saw him first frown and then try to conceal it. “I, I appear to be incorrect,” he began uneasily. “Each of these men represents a different clan, of which there are three aboard their ship. Niann says his clan is the ruling clan. Again, this is a most unfamiliar concept to me. On Minbar, all clans hold equal status.”  
“For how long has that been a practice?” Sinclair asked.  
“Always,” said Delenn as she watched Niann and his companions walk around and examine her things rather brusquely. Niann sat down at Delenn's low table and spoke. Lennier interpreted again.  
“He says your attempt to imitate Minbari décor is poor, and while he does not understand how you are managing to live without plants on the walls, Commander, since he wishes to please you, he will play along with your game.”  
“It's no game, Niann. I know you're finding this hard to believe, but this is all real and Delenn and Lennier are indeed Minbari.” Lennier translated for him. “I'll show you our plants later; I think you'll be pleased.”  
“If you say so, Sinclair ...” Lennier said Niann answered. “He reiterates that he will play along.”  
“Sinclair, come,” Niann demanded, then waved dismissively at Delenn as Tranen and Burell sat down to one side of him. Sinclair approached questioningly and Niann pointed to indicate he wanted Sinclair at his other side. “Sit.” Then he snapped at Lennier, who looked flustered.  
“What is it?” Sinclair asked.   
“Delenn, you will forgive me, these are not my words … he says I must join them and that Delenn must, uh, Delenn, I apologize,” he bowed his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Delenn must hastily bring us all food.” Niann then punched Sinclair on the shoulder and addressed his next words to him.  
“Lennier?”  
“Uh, he is asking you, Commander, why you, uh, tolerate, forgive me, Delenn's insolence in not anticipating his needs and fulfilling them. He wishes to … I cannot say this ...”  
“It's alright, Lennier; I know you are only translating,” assured Delenn.  
“He wishes to give to you the … the honor of striking her face.”  
“What?” Sinclair demanded. He turned to Niann. “That's completely unacceptable! I don't allow anything like that on my Station,” Sinclair said, his dander up. Niann replied. Lennier grew paler.  
“This, this is not good. He, forgive me, Commander, he questions your ...” he gulped, “your manhood.”  
“He what?”  
“He says, with distain, he uh, he says you ...”  
“Just say it, Lennier,” Sinclair said impatiently.  
“He says you are a 'woman-lover.' He says that no real man would refuse to hit a misbehaving woman.” Delenn could see Sinclair was seconds from exploding at their guest, and put her hand on his shoulder.  
“We must, both of us exercise extreme diplomatic courtesy in this situation, Commander. Their ways are strange, but they have not yet had the opportunity to learn our practices. Do as he asks and I will bring some food for them.” Sinclair continued to frown, now at her, but he couldn't deny the wisdom of her approach, and nodded reluctantly. He cleared his throat.  
“Mr. Lennier, please explain to him that in our societies, women and men are not only equals but that violence is considered wrong, especially when it's between the sexes.”  
“He says your alien ways don't concern him, but Minbari women are inferior and require ...” he too cleared his throat, “swift punishment for disobedience. If you want him to pretend she is Minbari, then she must obey him.”  
“You can do what you want on your own ship, but as long as you're aboard my Station, you'll have to follow my rules and that means treating women with respect no matter their race.” Lennier translated for him.  
“He is not at all happy with that request, Commander. But he acknowledges you have done them a tremendous service by bringing the Ro'sha to normal space and therefore he will not threaten Delenn again.”  
“Have you explained to him that Delenn is one of your leaders?”  
“I tried to back in the hallway. That is another fact that he is unwilling to accept. I cannot just sit here,” he announced abruptly, standing up. “I will serve them, Ambassador.” Lennier went to the kitchenette and began to pull food together while Delenn went and sat at a remove on her couch. The room was filled with a mutually shared sense of discomfort. As Lennier put plates of cold finger food in front of them, Niann punched Sinclair's arm again and began talking rapidly to him.  
“Mr. Lennier? Something about the food?” Lennier spoke back to Niann then explained.  
“He doesn't recognize the food on his plate and wonders if I am trying to poison them.”  
“Their diet is limited. Do you have any flarn?” Niann punched him and raised his fist in agreement. “I know they eat flarn.”  
“Flarn is typically a ritual dish. As it is not a holiday, I haven't any prepared.”  
“I guess we'll just have to demonstrate that this food is safe.” Lennier agreed and sat back down. He bowed his head and began to pray. Sinclair sat quietly in respect, but the other three Minbari made no attempt to hide their puzzlement and boredom. Lennier broke off a piece of his food and set it aside on a separate plate for Valen, and Sinclair, familiar with the custom since his experiences on Valen's Day,* copied him before starting to eat. The three newcomers eyed him carefully and then cautiously, a bite at a time, began to eat, although they ignored the part about leaving food for Valen. Lennier paused to meditate between his bites, then became distressed when he saw they weren't following suit.  
“They did not set aside a portion for Valen. They are not meditating. This is most inappropriate behavior for Minbari,” he complained in English.  
“As Delenn pointed out, they're ignorant of your current customs.”  
“Yes, I suppose you are correct, Commander. It is just … unsettling to see.”  
“A lot about them is unsettling,” Sinclair agreed glancing unhappily at how close Niann had again moved next to him and recalling his threat against Delenn.

*Refers to an event in the story “Captives“  
“We will give them time to adjust to their surroundings, Lennier,” Delenn said, “and then we will teach them what they do not know.”  
“Of course, Delenn.” The five men ate quietly, Niann and his companions whispering to each other about the food. Sinclair assumed that since they were eating it, they were satisfied.   
“I suppose this is as good a time as any for me to see to my other duties,” Sinclair  
remarked. He stood up; as always, an imposing figure. “Thank you for your patience, Ambassador; I admire your grace under fire.”   
“What fire are you speaking of, Commander?”  
“Sorry; it's an expression.” Before he could elaborate for her, Niann got up.  
“No, Sinclair.”  
“I'm sorry, Niann … Mr. Lennier, please tell him my job requires me to go somewhere else for a while and that I will return later.”  
“He insists you either stay or take them along.”  
“I can't. I'm sorry Niann, but you'll be fine here,” Sinclair smiled reassuringly. “Delenn and Lennier are my friends. Your friends,” he said, resorting to the few words he knew Niann was familiar with and gesturing again with his hands. “Lennier, let him know that you two will teach him about Babylon 5 and Minbar.” Listening to the translation, Niann shook his head.  
“No … go, Sinclair. You go ...” Sinclair got lost in the rest of his speech. Lennier stepped in with another explanation.  
“He says that if you leave, your illusions will disappear and they'll be left alone here and won't know how to survive. I presume you would like me to assure him once more that this is all real and that you have other things you must do but will return.”  
“Yes, please, Mr. Lennier,” Sinclair turned to the door.  
“No, Sinclair!” Sinclair looked back with a frustrated half-smile as Lennier re-addressed the crew of the Ro'sha. As Sinclair turned a second time, Niann grabbed him and pulled him back around. Sinclair tensed, fighting his instincts; he'd never had to tolerate another man putting his hands all over him like this before.   
“I'm sorry but I need to leave,” he repeated, but Niann kept his hand on Sinclair's bicep and then Tranen and Burell got to their feet as well.  
“They are adamant that you not leave, Commander.”  
“I gathered as much, Mr. Lennier,” Sinclair said testily. “I have to go now. You'll be fine.” He turned. Niann spun Sinclair around once more and then struck him in the face. Without thinking, Sinclair grabbed him by his tunic and slammed him up against the wall.  
“Do that again and I'll take your head off!” he growled impulsively; a threat Lennier wisely chose not to translate. It wasn't needed; Niann put his hands in the air in submission when he saw Sinclair's balled up fist.   
“Commander,” Delenn said softly, and Sinclair recomposed himself, letting Niann down.  
“Now I'd really better leave,” he remarked ruefully, and without any further interruptions left the room. In the hallway he reflected on the strange turns the day was taking.


	11. Chapter 11

“This is fascinating, absolutely fascinating, Commander. They refuse to accept that Delenn and Lennier are real?” Dr. Franklin asked as they sat at his desk in Medlab.  
“They believe they're the only actual Minbari alive. It's strange; they know that Lennier is there talking to them but Niann keeps addressing me instead, even though he knows that I can't understand most of what he's saying. He was very upset, angry actually, when I tried to leave them with the Ambassador. They're very … physical people. He's insisted on using me as a punching bag since we first met. They're behaving in ways the Minbari we're familiar with never would.”   
“Well, you'd expect them to have developed their own customs … but a thousand years? That's phenomenal,” Franklin said, his eyes glittering with interest. “How many of them are there?”  
“Eighty.”  
“And how big is their ship?”  
“About the size of a frigate. Strangely empty, except for plants; my God, do they have a lot of those.”  
“Empty? Really? I'd expect their population to be well above maximum capacity after so many generations. It's true the Minbari in general have reproductive problems, still ... any chance they're part of a convoy?”  
“Maybe; Delenn says two ships from that evacuation a millennium ago went missing. That's assuming she and Lennier are right and this is one of those particular ships.”  
“Well there's a mystery there to be solved, alright. I'd love to help you figure it out. I'd also like to examine them, check out their general health; particularly that of any children. There's no research on anyone living permanently in hyperspace; I'm curious how that may have affected them physiologically.”  
“My issue is more immediate; what do you advise I should do with them? What's the next step?”  
“Take everything really slowly; don't introduce them to anything new until you're satisfied they've begun to accept what they've been exposed to so far. Try to be patient with their unfamiliar ways even if it makes you uncomfortable.”  
“That's proving to be difficult.”  
“I'm sure. But considering the changes they've experienced so far, Commander, it's only natural that they'd react with extreme behavior. They may vacillate between belief and disbelief often before it really settles in. And since they prefer your company, you might want to see if you can work time with them into your schedule.”  
“Thanks for the advice. I'll see what I can arrange in terms of bringing them here for physicals, but I think it'll be a while before I get that far with them,” he mused, rubbing his sore cheek.


	12. Chapter 12

“Now returns Odysseus from the ringing plains of windy Troy,” Sakai said, looking up from her work as Sinclair entered the room. “So what did you find out there? Was it worth checking it out?”  
“Was it ever!” Sinclair replied eagerly, slipping out of his jacket and stifling a yawn. “It's a Minbari ship alright, one that may be a thousand years old, though we're not sure about that yet. But the people! They were all born on the ship, floating aimlessly on the waves of hyperspace. Same as their great-great-grandparents, or so it seems. Their whole history is a little fuzzy. Oh! But you should see them; they have these enormous bone crests,” he drew a picture in the air with his hands, “spiky like the Warrior Caste, that they've drilled holes into the edges of, and ...”  
“Slow down, slow down,” she giggled. “I rarely see you this charged up. I gather it's been exciting for you to meet a lost tribe?” Sinclair laughed at himself and began rolling up his sleeves.  
“You have no idea, Cath. And they seem to be having a harder time accepting the fact there are other Minbari in the universe than to accept than us Humans. They'd never seen normal space before, Catherine; imagine that. No stars, no planets, not to mention other races. And here's Babylon 5, teeming with all new experiences for them. It's just amazing, like something out of a science fiction story,” he continued as he opened the neck of his shirt. “I've got to start learning their language; it's so obscure even Delenn doesn't speak it, but Lennier knows it because he's a history buff.”  
“I'm glad I found them for you then,” she said, thinking that she hadn't seen him display such open excitement since before the War.  
“Do we have anything to eat around here?” he asked, continuing on and starting to rummage through the kitchen. “I ate a little at Delenn's but their portions are so small it only made me more hungry. Is this still good?” he looked dubiously at a container of Chinese take out from the fridge, then grabbed a fork from the drawer and began wolfing it down. “And a generations ship; the stuff of legend. Earth Gov's never going to believe our reports.”  
“How many of them are there?”  
“Eighty. Stephen Franklin thinks there should be more than that, and I wondered about it too. We brought three back with us who seem to be their leaders. We also met one of their telepaths; they referred to her as a shaman. I feel like some old Earth ethnographer or something; a whole new culture that's Minbari but not Minbari to document. This was good,” he remarked absently, pitching the empty container into the recycler. He came over to the living room and sank into the couch, yawning again as he casually threw his right arm around her shoulders. “Say, did I catch you quoting the Odyssey just now? I guess my literary preferences are finally wearing off on you?” he grinned broadly.  
“Tragically, that was inevitable. Fortunately, it's a good story.”  
“A 'good' story? It's the story, the hero's journey ...”  
“Now's not the time to discuss literature. You should go to bed; you've been up for a couple of days.”  
“Yeah, but who can sleep? I've got to start studying Lu'shon. That's the language they speak. It's like a Minbari Latin.”  
“This really got a rise out of you, didn't it?” she observed.  
“Yeah, you're right, it's got me … oh ...” he began as she leaned over and kissed him sensuously. “I've got to ...” he continued, coming up for air. “I … mmm … screw it.” He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her back. Sakai leaned away slightly so she could unbutton his shirt.  
“Jeff! What the hell?” she asked upon seeing the bruises flowering all over his broad chest and arms.  
“Oh, I should have warned you. They're very physical. Lots of hitting … lots. They seem to have endless reasons why they hit people. 'People' being me, 'they' being Niann, their leader. They hit to say hello, they hit to add emphasis to what they're saying, they hit when they're unhappy, they hit when they agree with you. And it turns out they not only have a propensity for violence, but they're awful misogynists as well. They thought I'd be insulted by being called a 'woman-lover.'”  
“That's an insult?”  
“Apparently so. Lennier says they questioned my 'manhood' because I told them I wouldn't backhand Delenn.”  
“What?”  
“There's definitely a dark side to them. As soon as we got to Delenn's they started ordering her around.”  
“Giving orders to Delenn? That's living dangerously. How'd she respond to that?”  
“Diplomatically. A whole lot better than I did.” he said, declining to elaborate as he played with her hair. “They're a very strange bunch.”  
“Hmm,” she said, “questioning your manhood though? Maybe you'd better prove just how much of a 'woman-lover' you are,” she teased, drawing a meandering line on his bare chest.  
“Allow me to demonstrate,” he replied, taking her back into his arms.


	13. Chapter 13

Early in the morning Sakai woke to an empty bed. She could hear Sinclair's low murmur in the other room. She found her robe and went to open the sliding doors. He was sitting at his desk, staring at the computer and talking back to it.  
“Jeff? It's oh-four hundred; what are you doing?”  
“Learning Lu'shon. Lennier was right; it's not too complicated. There are more similarities to Lenn'a than I realized too; same sentence structure, a lot of the same verbs. And I'd picked up quite a bit of vocabulary from Niann while we were heading for the gate.”  
“How long have you been at it?”  
“Three hours.”  
“Why are you always finding something to get between you and sleep?”  
“This is important. I can't just rely on Lennier. I'm sure he has other things to do.” Sakai draped her hands over his shoulders.  
“So do you. Come back to bed.”  
“I'll only be getting up again in another hour and a half anyway.”  
“An hour and a half is an hour and a half. Come on.”  
“I really want to keep studying this.”  
“Well then don't come home tonight telling me you're tired.”  
“Fi'la denis philha'ra.”  
“What does that mean?”  
“If I said it right, it means 'okay, that's reasonable.'” Sakai tossed her hands in the air, gave him a kiss on the cheek and went back to the bedroom alone. Sinclair returned to his studies. 

After the disputed hour and a half passed, Sinclair moved to the floor for his morning meditation. He'd barely closed his eyes before a message came through for him on the BabCom system.  
“Mr. Lennier?” he asked.  
“Commander, I apologize for waking you so early ...”  
“I was already up. But Lennier, you look tired.”  
“Our guests are proving to be more … trying than I anticipated.” Sinclair glanced at the clock.  
“Why? How long have they been up?”  
“I took them to guest quarters, but they showed no interest in sleeping. When the hall lights dimmed they came looking for me, highly agitated. I realized then that not only are they fearful of darkness but are totally unfamiliar with a planetary-based day/night schedule.”  
“Ah. I didn't think about that. I wonder what their circadian rhythms are like.”  
“Since I have yet to see them rest, I cannot say. At any rate, since they are thoroughly ignorant of Minbari history, I tried to use the time to teach them about Valen and the Grey Council. But they, excuse me, this is difficult … they laughed. One does not laugh about Valen and the miracles he wrought. One does not laugh at the Grey Council. It is our most sacred institution. They want to eat again, but they're being very specific about the foods they are willing to eat and the stores are not open yet. Now they are demanding to see you, Commander. I tried to explain you would be sleeping … Niann struck me repeatedly in response. It is, as you know, very difficult not to respond in kind. I realize these are not your problems, Commander, but such … erratic behavior did not occur in Temple, Delenn is asleep and I am unsure how to proceed.”  
“I'll be there in ten minutes.”  
“Thank you, Commander, thank you.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sinclair had just stepped into Lennier's quarters when Niann, smiling, greeted him with a punch to his chest.  
“Hello, Niann,” Sinclair said in Lu'shon, rolling his eyes. Then he deployed the first sentence he had taught himself. “Please stop hitting me.”  
“Why?”  
“It hurts.”  
“And?”  
“Mr. Lennier, please tell him that most people dislike pain and find it difficult not to strike back when struck. That's beyond my vocabulary.”  
“He says we should just hit back harder.”  
“And then you'll stop?” Sinclair asked Niann directly.  
“No. How else do you greet people?” Niann replied seriously.  
“We say 'hello,'” Sinclair offered. Niann laughed and punched him again. “I see why you have found them … trying,” Sinclair sighed. “I'll take them to the Observation Deck; that should give you some time to rest before the Zocalo opens.”  
“Thank you, Commander,” Lennier said with feeling.  
“Niann, Burell, Tranen, come with me. I have blanket to show you.” Lennier cleared his throat.  
“With respect, Commander, I do not think that is the word you were looking for.”  
“How do you say 'something'?”  
“Sh'lefk.”  
“Ah. My mistake. Come, I'll show you something.”

Sinclair led them into the capacious Sanctuary and brought them up to the windows, much as he had on their ship.

“Space. Your ship,” he pointed. They began talking so rapidly that he couldn't keep up. “Stars. Ships,” he offered. As he'd hoped, they stared with fascination. He put more of his Lu'shon to the test. “There are planets like Minbar around many of those stars.”  
“We're supposed to find a new Minbar,” Tranen said quietly, surprising Sinclair.  
“Then listen to Lennier talk about Minbar; his Minbar.”  
“Lennier, if he's even real, is a woman. Answers to a woman, serves like a woman. Small bone crest like a child. Doesn't punch back. Lennier is a woman,” Burell said with disgust. Sinclair tried to respond with the vocabulary he'd learned so far.  
“You're guests. Lennier gives guests respect,” he managed to pidgin out.  
“Lennier,” Niann laughed, “Lennier is less than a woman.” Sinclair quickly changed topics.  
“Soon ships will come and go from the Station. You can watch them from here.”  
“Where do they go?”  
“To other planets and other stations.” The three discussed that idea among themselves.  
“Are Humans from here?” Niann asked.  
“No, I'm from a planet called Mars, but I live here now. Humans are from the planets Earth and Mars.” He decided to push a little for information of his own. “What do you know about what Minbar was like?”  
“Very beautiful. Oceans ... snow. Crystal cities.”   
“Do you know what those are?”  
“What?”  
“Oceans, snow and cities?”  
“Very beautiful.”  
“But what are they?”  
“Don't you know?” Niann said, turning the question around. “They are very beautiful.” It's what he'd suspected, Sinclair thought. They have no idea. All they know is their ship. In a thousand years of isolation they'd lost all descriptive knowledge of planetary features.   
“Do you want to stay here and watch while I go study your language more?” They nodded absently, reabsorbed by the view of space in front of them. “I'll come back, I promise.” This time, Niann didn't seem to care if he left.

When he returned, Sinclair found them still in the same positions they'd been in when he'd left. Not sharing the same sense of measured time, they must have developed long attention spans, he surmised. Suddenly, an early arriving ship came through the jumpgate. The Minbari gasped, having only seen a jumpgate operate from their own ship the day before, and began questioning Sinclair rapid fire. 

“That's a jumpgate,” he explained, using the Lenn'a term for it. “It takes ships from normal space to hyperspace and back. We came through it yester … before.”  
“What is that small moving thing?” he thought he understood Niann to be asking.  
“A Centauri ...” he didn't know the words for 'private liner.' “A Centauri ship. Another planet is named Centauri Prime.”  
“Humans live there?”  
“No. Centauri are from Centauri Prime. As I said, there are many planets and many races, not just Minbari and Humans. Do you want to go back to eat, or stay and watch more ships?”  
“We'll watch.”  
“Alright, I'll go away again, but I'll be back.” 

Once in his office, Sinclair called Dr. Franklin on BabCom.

“Good morning, Commander; what can I do for you?”  
“I was wondering if you knew what kind of circadian rhythms people developed when we first went to space without simulating day and night?”  
“Most of those studies are very old, actually, done in the Twentieth Century in underground chambers very soon after the Apollo Program. If I recall correctly, the twenty-four hour cycle expanded to where subjects remained awake for up to thirty six hours and then slept up to fourteen. So as soon as we were able, we instituted the day and night system aboard all our ships.”  
“Are there similar data on Minbari?”  
“Not that I'm aware of, but I would imagine it'll work out relatively similar, taking into account the shorter nights on their planet, of course. By the way, I meant to ask,” Franklin leaned toward the monitor conspiratorially. “Is it true? Do the Minbari have artificial gravity?”  
“Yes,” Sinclair confirmed with a half-smile.  
“So they've had it for a thousand years? That makes Earth Central's top scientists look like children playing with building blocks.”  
“No comment,” he agreed with a smirk.


	15. Chapter 15

“No, you must pray to Valen before we eat anything,” Lennier was insisting to deaf ears. “It is only because of his wisdom and leadership that we are alive today.”  
“This has nothing to do with us,” Niann insisted.   
“You are Minbari and this is the Minbari way. You need to follow suit so you will fit in back home.”  
“What we do is the Minbari way,” Niann said testily. “You should copy us.” Ignoring the alien utensils laid out in front of him, he dug into the flarn on his plate with his fingers and then flung it off with disgust. “What is this hot … substance?”  
“This is the flarn you asked for yesterday,” Lennier answered, frowning slightly.  
“This isn't flarn! This is something hot! Food is not supposed to be hot!” Lennier looked flustered.  
“Flarn is always cooked,” he remarked, more to Sinclair than to Niann.   
“What are you talking about? How can you not know that food is never hot?” Niann turned to face Sinclair. “I told you they aren't Minbari!” he declared. “This proves it. They are some kind of savages!”  
“You don't eat anything that's been heated?” Sinclair asked, a little puzzled himself. Niann grimaced at him.  
“Shit is warm, not food!” Neither Sinclair nor Lennier, nor Delenn, who was sitting at a quiet remove from the men, knew quite how to answer to that. “Where can I go to cleanse myself?” he demanded and wordlessly, Delenn took him to the sink. While Niann was washing up, Lennier glanced at Sinclair a bit desperately.  
“How about some more of that cold dish we ate yesterday, Mr. Lennier,” he suggested. “Would that be alright with you, Naia Niann?” Niann grunted. Lennier gave Sinclair an almost imperceptible nod of the head in thanks and removed the rejected dishes. Niann returned to the table and sat with his crew mates and Sinclair in a decidedly awkward silence while Lennier returned to the kitchen. He returned with new plates of food and rejoined them on the floor.  
“As I was saying, we now pray to Valen.” Niann shot blades at him out of his eyes. “At the least you should meditate between bites, giving thanks for the work it took to deliver food to our plates and for the ability to taste its many flavors. Look; Commander Sinclair is doing it and he is not even Minbari,” Lennier tried desperately.  
“Yes. Because that is not the real Minbari way,” Niann claimed again.  
“After the prayers,” Lennier continued stubbornly, “you set aside a portion of your meal for Valen in case he should return while we are eating and also be hungry.”  
“And if he does not?” asked Trenan.  
“Then it is burned ceremonially.” This infuriated Niann, who began striking first the table and then Sinclair's shoulder in agitation.  
“You would waste food?” he exclaimed angrily. “To waste food is the greatest sin! I would sooner eat shit than waste food!”  
“It is not waste,” Delenn explained helpfully; “it is a sacrifice in His Name.” Lennier began to translate but was interrupted by Niann.  
“Be quiet, woman,” he demanded, “or I will shut you up myself.”  
“Don't speak to Delenn that way!” Sinclair admonished. “She represents the Minbari government. And you agreed not to do it yesterday.”  
“Hmm,” Niann grunted in recollection. “But we do not burn food. To do so insults every one of us.” His hand went to the denn'bok at his waist as he said it.  
“Extra food is grown on Minbar expressly for this purpose,” Lennier explained. Niann rose to his feet.  
“We will not waste food!” Sinclair stood up and jabbed him on the shoulder.  
“You don't have to, alright?” he said with a look at Lennier and then to Delenn. “But you must respect that other Minbari do.” Niann looked at him angrily, then relented. He sat back down. “He's only trying to help you learn his people's customs so you can return home … go to his Minbar if you want.”  
“We cannot return; Minbar does not exist any more, these people are imposters, and our ship does not move on its own. You know this, Sinclair.”  
“Do you think they're going to have to abandon ship or is there a chance someone would be able to repair their engines despite how ancient we think the ship is?” Sinclair asked Delenn in English.   
“I am sure our scientists back home will be able to resolve the problem,” she answered. “I will inquire and have the appropriate workers dispatched to do the work. My government will of course pay for them to stay here and for any supplies they need.”  
“Delenn says she will fix your ship,” he said to them in Lu'shon. He paused for effect. “Now thank her.” Niann's eyes went wide, but before he could say anything, Sinclair punched him hard on the shoulder. “Thank her,” he threatened. Niann glowered, clearly angry with the idea of expressing appreciation to a woman. “I said, thank her,” Sinclair repeated authoritatively, his square jaw set firmly. Niann considered the options and finally turned to her and bowed his head slightly. “You need to get used to that,” Sinclair warned, “if you want to be able to live someplace other than your ship. Many women hold high positions on Minbar just like they do here.”  
“This is wrong,” Niann finally said, defiantly. “Women are beneath us. For chores and for ...”  
“That's not true here,” Sinclair cut in. “Not at all.”  
“Woman-lover,” Niann mumbled under his breath. Sinclair frowned at him.  
“Perhaps,” he managed diplomatically, but with unusual ice in his voice, “we should finish eating. There is something else I want to show to you today; I think you'll appreciate it.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sakai was brushing out her still-damp hair when the door chimed.  
“Come?” she said curiously, wondering who needed Sinclair at that hour.  
“'Morning, Catherine,” Garibaldi said, quickly glancing up at the ceiling after glimpsing her dressed only in a silk yukata.  
“You just missed him,” she explained as she began to weave her black locks into a neat bun. “Lennier couldn't handle the new Minbari by himself anymore and so Jeff went to help him out.”  
“No, actually, I was hoping to catch you before you got into some business negotiation or something.” Sakai tilted her head questioningly. Garibaldi waved his hands in the air. “Look, it's driving me crazy; you gotta let me try to win back those credits.”  
“What? Are you that hard up for money? I'm sure Jeff ...”  
“No, it's not the credits, it's … it's just killing me that I lost to you.” Sakai smiled mischievously.  
“Why? Are you threatened by me? Or is it like you're losing to Jeff?”  
“Look, what does it matter why? I want a rematch.”  
“I'm really not all that fond of cards. I've kind of had my fill of them for a while.”   
“Okay, then something else. You pick it; pool, darts, throwing hoops, whatever.”  
“Anything, huh? And what do I get if I win again?”  
“Double or nothing.”   
“That's how you lost last time.”  
“Come on, Catherine.”  
“Hmm,” she began thinking. “How about target shooting?”  
“No way; that wouldn't be fair to you; I'm Chief of Security, remember?” he laughed. “There'd be no contest. I wanna win, but not that easily.”  
“I was in Earth Force, you know. And I've gone with Jeff when he wanted to practice.”  
“You sure about this? It might be embarrassing.” Sakai tossed her head back with a laugh.  
“Yes, it could be.” She took a big gulp from the coffee mug she'd left on the counter. “For you,” she warned with a lilt in her voice.  
“Alright then, you're on. You want to practice first?”  
“Maybe just a round or two when we get there. When do you go on break today?”  
“Thirteen hundred, barring incident. But this is Babylon 5; there are always incidents.”  
“Okay, just call me when you're free.”  
“I'd still pick something else if I were you, but okay, Range One, thirteen hundred it is. You know how to get there?”  
“I'll figure it out. But I'll need a PPG.”  
“You're looking at the Chief of Security here, remember?”  
“Okay, I'll see you then.” He gave her a two fingered wave and left the room. Sakai laughed to herself; no need to tell him Sinclair said she was a natural sharpshooter. Garibaldi would find out soon enough.


	17. Chapter 17

“You asked about our plants. Well, this is where we recycle the air and grow crops on Babylon 5,” Sinclair said, pushing his knowledge of Lu'shon to its limits. He stepped into the Core, then moved to the side so the three Minbari could see. They took one look and froze in terror. Burrell grabbed Trenan and Niann pulled Sinclair against him. Breathing frantically, he opened his denn'bok as if he feared an attack. “It's alright. It's like the surface of a planet. It's all plants, trees and lakes; they're like small oceans … 'very beautiful' just as you said. Nothing here will hurt you,” Sinclair assured them. The vast openness of the space must frighten them given that their small ship was the whole world to them, he reminded himself. Niann nodded doubtfully and closed his weapon. 

“I want to go home,” Burell said in a small voice. Niann struck him in the chest.  
“Coward,” he said, as if he too hadn't panicked.  
“It's too big,” ventured Tranen. “Too strange.” Sinclair decided to try another tactic. A dare.  
“Delenn goes in here all the time. She's not afraid of it.” Thus goaded, Niann stepped into the Core, then called to Burell and Tranen to follow, which they did reluctantly.  
“It's enormous,” Niann whispered. “It can't be real. You are using magic again.”  
“I'm not, Niann. It's as real as you and I are.”  
“Nothing can be this big. There can't be this many plants, that much water. It's impossible.”  
“But it is,” Sinclair assured him. “Minbar is bigger still. You should ask Delenn and Lennier to show you what it's like.”  
“Lennier ...” Niann couldn't help but mumble in dissatisfaction. Sinclair decided to really speak his language and punched him on the arm.   
“Enough. You need him and what he has to say. Come on,” he encouraged, walking further into the Core. Niann followed, still holding his closed denn'bok in hand, just in case. With his other he reached forward and clutched Sinclair's shoulder as he'd done in the shuttle. Burell and Tranen followed a few paces back, similarly entwined.  
“What? What is that?” Niann yelped in alarm, pointing to the monorail running through the center of the Core.  
“I don't know the word in your language. It takes you from one place to another. Like you said, this place is very big and it would take a long time to walk everyplace. So we have that to help us save time.”  
“And this?” he asked, emboldened. “This tall brown thing with leaves?”  
“It's a tree; a very large plant. This one is an orange tree; that's an Earth fruit. Do you want to try one?” Niann shook no. “It's safe, look.” Sinclair walked over to the tree and found a ripe orange. He picked it, peeled it open, showed it to Niann and ate a section. Niann took the orange from him, sniffed at it, recoiled and handed it back. He looked around again.  
“So enormous,” he repeated. Sinclair shook his head affirmatively even as he continued to eat the orange; no point in wasting food. He found it ironic that Niann wouldn't contribute to that goal when it was something he was unfamiliar with. “It's just too big and too strange,” Niann continued, reaching out to touch the tree only to pull his hand right back as if it might bite. “Why is it so tall and hard? Are all your Human plants like this?”  
“How does it grow from the floor? How does all of this grow from the floor?” Trenan asked.  
“They grow in soil. Again, I don't know the words to explain it, but that's how most plants grow.”  
“Not in trays? Not under grow lights? Human plants are strange.”  
“They grow that way on Minbar too.”  
“No,” Niann said. “And stop saying those others are from Minbar. Everyone had to leave Minbar or die. They look a little like us, but they can't be Minbari.”  
“I understand you believe that,” said Sinclair sympathetically. “It's a lot for you accept all at once. But they are Minbari, people still live on Minbar and this is how plants grow there too. Come.” He led them further into the Core. 

They walked for over an hour, Sinclair trying to explain how on a planet, looking up would reveal a sky, not more trees and crops, and suggesting again that Niann consult Lennier and ask to see pictures of their mutual homeworld. He also used his time with them to get answers to a few of the many questions he had.

“Niann, why weren't you as surprised to see me and my team as you are at seeing other …” he stopped himself from starting another argument about them being Minbari, “at seeing Lennier and Delenn?”  
“Our stories told us that there are other species; we didn't know if you were real at first, but we knew it was possible you were. Just as we know it's impossible ...”  
“For them to be Minbari, yes, I know you think so. Let's not argue about it for now.” Niann nodded and peppered Sinclair with more questions about what they were seeing in the Core. When they came to a bench and sat down, Sinclair prodded him on another issue.  
“I don't understand why you dislike women so much, Niann.”  
“Spending too much time with women makes men weak. That's why we don't live with them.” Sinclair frowned quizzically.   
“But you do live with them.”  
“We don't live with them,” he repeated, adding emphasis. “We men room together by clan, we eat together, we work together, we spar together. The women must live in their own areas away from us.”  
“Don't men and women live together after marriage?”  
“After what?”  
“Once you take a mate; don't you live together?” Niann laughed and repeated the question loudly to Burell and Trenan, who joined him in hilarity.   
“The things you say are so strange, Sinclair. It's like you know nothing at all!” Sinclair chose to ignore the insult. “We command them to visit us when we want and when we don't they must leave.”  
“What about when you were a child? Where did you live then?”  
“I lived with the women when I was very small; then I was given to a man who taught me until I was grown.”  
“Given? You mean you weren't raised by your father?” Niann looked repulsed.  
“Of course not! What a horrible, alien idea!”  
“I don't understand ...”  
“That's because you aren't civilized.” His expression turned serious. “You're lucky you came to my ship; now I can teach you how to behave. I'll even help you learn to properly discipline a woman,” he declared magnanimously.   
“That won't be necessary; as I've explained, the sexes are equal here.”  
“You must have stayed with your mothers too long. I'm very sorry for you,” Niann lamented with genuine pity.  
“Thanks,” Sinclair managed. “I guess,” he mumbled to himself in English. “What about Mayan?” he asked. “You listened to what she had to say.”  
“She is the Traveh. She is not like other women.”  
“I don't know that word; tell me, what's a Traveh?”  
“The Traveh leads us in religious ceremonies and knows the sacred mysteries. By using them she knows if someone is sinning or lying or plotting.”  
“You mean she reads minds?” Sinclair asked, remembering what Talia had said about Mayan being a telepath.  
“What? No one can do that,” he scoffed. “She is an oracle. She uses the holy rites to foretell the future. She knows what people are about to do and if it is something good or bad. She's the only woman allowed to give advice or instructions to a man.”   
“And how is the Traveh chosen?”  
“By the old Traveh before she dies. When a child is born the Traveh decides whether or not she will raise it. The ones she picks are mostly girls, but sometimes she takes boys, who will be given girl's names and raised like girls. They live with her away from everyone else. As they grow up she teaches them the occult ways; how to perform rituals and retell the old stories. When she gets old, she will pick another girl to replace her as Traveh. It's always a woman, not a boy-woman,” he added. He doesn't know telepathy exists, Sinclair concluded. It's kept hidden from the men behind secret ceremonies, and by turning male telepaths into girls, it sounded like the Traveh could eliminate any possibility of them mingling with the men and revealing the secret. He wondered how long had the charade been going on, but was afraid if he continued to inquire he might give away information it wasn't his place to reveal. He let the topic rest and they resumed their walk.


	18. Chapter 18

“Commander?” Ivanova asked from the doorway to his office. Sinclair looked up and gestured for her to come in and sit down.  
“Lieutenant-Commander? What can I do for you?” he smiled  
“I was wondering what else you've learned about the Minbari we found. They are Minbari, aren't they?” Sinclair leaned back in his chair.  
“Depends on who you ask; Delenn and Lennier say yes; they differ strenuously on the matter. It seems they were separated from the rest of the Minbari people over a thousand years ago. It's funny how alien they seem. Maybe because everyone else on Babylon 5 came here for a reason; diplomacy, commerce, a desire to see the universe, while they're here simply because we brought them. But they also defy the standards I've come to expect from Minbari. Either way, I don't know what to make of them and their … unique culture.”  
“You mean all the punching and touching?” Sinclair gave her a look. “Sir.”  
“There is that … but I'm thinking about how different they are from our Minbari; they don't have that rigid caste system, their society isn't governed by consensus, and frankly, they don't come across as very cultured, the way Delenn does. And then there's the fact that they consider women to be inferior to men and expect to rule over them as a matter of course.”  
“I imagine Ambassador Delenn had something to say about that.” Sinclair shook his head no.  
“She's being surprisingly deferential to them. I certainly expected more of a response when Niann told her to shut up and he asked me to hit her. I was ready to tear his head off when she stopped me.”  
“He asked you to do what?” she asked incredulously.  
“She didn't anticipate that he wanted to eat and Niann thought it was my job to strike her in the face for it. I've never met anyone with such archaic attitudes before. Half of me is intrigued by them and their predicament and the other half just wants them the hell off my Station.”  
“Hmm. Might I suggest a half hour in a room alone with me would do them some good?” Sinclair laughed.  
“Don't think the idea hasn't crossed my mind.”  
“Have you heard back from Earth about our reports?”  
“Not yet. But Delenn thinks someone might be able to fix their ship, so I doubt we'll have many more chances to explore it.” Ivanova nodded.  
“Until then, sir, my offer stands to straighten them out personally.”  
“I'll keep that in mind. But Lieutenant-Commander?”  
“Yes sir?”  
“Whatever you do, don't offer them anything that's been cooked,” he winked mysteriously.


	19. Chapter 19

“I'll be damned ...” Garibaldi swore, staring in disbelief at the paper target in his hands. All but one of Sakai's shots had hit the bullseye dead center, the exception being one that was about an inch from the middle. He'd missed two on his target. “How the hell did you do that?” he asked Sakai incredulously.  
“Weren't you paying attention?” she mocked. “You didn't think Jeff was attracted to me only because of my good looks, did you?” Garibaldi blushed, still looking at the target.  
“No, I, uh, I try not to think about why you're attractive at all, I mean … the code, you know. The code.” Sakai chuckled. He took hold of himself. “With accuracy like that … have you ever thought of re-upping with Earth Force? I could get you a job here like that.” He snapped his fingers.  
“No. Besides, there'd be the problem of a conflict of interest with a certain superior officer.”  
“Oh yeah. Too bad,” he said, genuinely disappointed.  
“So that's six hundred credits you owe me. Are you good for it?”  
“Yeah ...” he said, still distracted and stealing the briefest of glances at her. “I'll deposit it into your account after I get off duty tonight. Say, uh, Catherine, can we uh, keep this between ourselves? I mean, if you were to tell Jeff, I'll never live it down.”  
“It's not Jeff you need to worry about,” she assured him with a smile. “But sure, I can keep a secret.” He held out his hand for the still-warm PPG.   
“I gotta get this back to the armory and go back on duty. I'll get you the credits later, like I promised.”  
“Unless you want to let it ride,” she teased.  
“What do you mean?”  
“You could challenge me to something else and try again to win it all back.”  
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, intrigued. She smiled indulgently.  
“Why don't you decide this time? Something new.”  
“Uh …” he thought about it, no longer fishing for something he thought would be a “fair” contest. “Ever done any martial arts?”  
“Jeff and I used to practice kendo together all the time at the Academy. Of course that was a long time ago ...”  
“What's that?”  
“Japanese fencing with a wooden sword called the bokken. It can be dangerous. You game?”  
“Dangerous is my job. But where would we get the swords?”  
“I still have mine; I'll look around and see if Jeff kept his. You're the same height so it should be just right for you if he still has it.”  
“I'll have you know I'm an inch taller,” Garibaldi insisted.  
“You've actually measured it?”  
“No,” he denied, “but I have access to everyone's medical files.”  
“Uh huh. Well, are you sure you want to challenge me to something you haven't done before?”  
“I've messed around with all kinds of weapons. This could be fun for both of us … especially when I beat you,” he smiled confidently.  
“Alright then, if you say so.” She held out her hand. “Wanna shake on it?” Garibaldi grabbed it without hesitation. The competition was back on.


	20. Chapter 20

“Want to come with me to the gym, Cath?” Sinclair called from the bedroom where he was changing out of his uniform.  
“I can't,” Sakai replied, “I need to finish this report for tomorrow morning. Why don't you ask Michael? He might have something he needs to work off,” she said knowingly. Sinclair was ahead of her, already talking into his link as he entered the living room.  
“Sinclair to Garibaldi.”  
“Garibaldi.”  
“Hey, Mike, you want to go the the gym?”  
“Sure. I'll meet you there; gotta change first.”  
“Great.” He leaned down and gave Sakai a short kiss. “I'll see you later.” Sakai smiled up at him, then turned back to her computer notepad.

“It's alternately a fascinating and frustrating experience,” Sinclair said as he spotted Garibaldi while he bench pressed. “Nothing we're familiar with about the Minbari is true with them.” Garibaldi grunted. “They listen to what I say, but at the same time … do you have any idea how hard it is not to react when someone keeps hitting you?”  
“Couldn't do it,” Garibaldi said, setting down the bar. “That's why it's in my job description that I get to punch back. Your turn.” He got up off the bench and he and Sinclair switched positions. “Guess you're glad they're Delenn's problem.”  
“Mine … too,” Sinclair forced out as he lifted the bar. “I … found them.”  
“Maybe so, but their her people, not yours.”  
“They are … and they're not,” he said sitting up. “The Minbari have their castes but act in unity. Niann, however, seems to rule his people himself. And his socio-political views are just so backward; women aren't people to him, they're slaves. I'm a little afraid what'll happen when they meet other races.” He lay back down on the bench and resumed lifting.  
“You think they'll start a fight?”  
“Maybe,” he said between reps.  
“How many of them did you say there are?”  
“Eighty.”  
“And all this concern is over three of them?”  
“Yeah.”   
“Are you gonna let the rest of them aboard?”  
“I don't know.”  
“You ask me, you shouldn't. Fix their ship and get them the hell out of here.” Sinclair paused his workout again and sat upright.  
“But whose choice is that? Theirs or mine? We don't stop any other group from coming aboard other than Soul Hunters. But Niann's crew haven't done anything wrong so far.”  
“But you say these guys are violent; I see those bruises on your arms. You've really let them wail on you. And yet you get along with them. What if one of them hits someone who doesn't? Can you imagine if it were G'Kar? What if they tell the Abbai what they think of women?”  
“I know, I know.” Their attention was distracted by the concussive drumbeat of someone performing mixed martial arts maneuvers against a punching bag across the room.  
“Is that Lennier?” Garibaldi asked in surprise.  
“It is,” Sinclair frowned in confusion.  
“I didn't know the Religious Caste does Mutai.”  
“Me either. But the better question is, if we're both here, who's with our troublesome guests?” Sinclair got up and crossed the room with Garibaldi following close behind. “Mr. Lennier?” he asked, carefully standing out of the line of fire. The younger man looked over and stopped assaulting the bag.  
“Commander Sinclair. Mr. Garibaldi.” he panted.  
“We didn't expect to see you here,” Sinclair began. “Is this something you do regularly?” Lennier nodded, still trying to catch his breath.  
“Why yes, Commander. We try to follow Valen's example; he demonstrated throughout his life that maintaining one's physical conditioning is important. Self defense and hand-to-hand combat were both disciplines he taught.”  
“We could certainly use a powerful saint right about now, couldn't we?” Sinclair commiserated. Lennier nodded.  
“How do you do it, Commander?” he inquired with incredulity. “They … anger me very much.” Sinclair half-smiled in agreement.  
“Well, I'm here working my frustration off the same as you are,” he offered as explanation. “Where are they now?”  
“Sleeping, thank Valen. They're just so … rude. The disrespect they show Delenn ...”  
“And to you,” Sinclair acknowledged.   
“If they were willing to hear Valen's teachings I would gladly stay up day and night translating his prose and poetry for them, but no. That they don't astonishes me.”  
“What were your people like before he appeared?” Lennier looked down at his feet for a moment.  
“There was much fighting, terrible fighting between the castes and within the Warrior Caste itself. In the war over Tuzanor, the City of Sorrows, over a million died. We worshipped false, imaginary gods. The clans were the seat of all power and there were major disagreements between them. Consensus was not yet a goal.” He sighed. “I will have to keep trying to teach them, despite themselves,” he said, downcast. “We value your assistance in this, Commander. You appear to be the only one they respect.”  
“I've never had respect paid to me so painfully,” Sinclair claimed, rubbing at a bruise hidden by his shirt. “Dr. Franklin says we should introduce them to things slowly. Given how much the Core unnerved them, I'm not sure what to show them next. Any suggestions?”  
“Perhaps I can arrange for them to meet other Minbari. Then they will see what I've been telling them is genuine.”  
“Good idea,” Sinclair agreed. “At least they don't seem to think you're imaginary any more.”  
“If they get too out of line, I'd be happy to introduce them to my PPG,” Garibaldi chimed in.  
“Michael ...” Sinclair chastised. “I'll continue to be available to help, Mr. Lennier. Just let me know if you need me.”   
“Thank you, Commander.” They nodded to each other and Sinclair and Garibaldi returned to their weights while Lennier resumed his martial arts.  
“Sounds like they're more Minbari than you thought,” Garibaldi observed in light of Lennier's confession.  
“It's interesting,” Sinclair agreed. “Delenn and Lennier haven't talked about that period of their history before.”  
“Well, apparently all they need to do is find the current incarnation of that Valen guy and the problem'll be solved.” Sinclair laughed.  
“How likely do you think that is?” he asked, laying back down on the bench and grasping the bar.  
“Like I said, that's their problem, not yours.”


	21. Chapter 21

“You still working?” Sinclair asked Sakai when he returned to his quarters.  
“No, I was just looking over my schedule for the next couple of months.” He sat down next to her with a smile as she tossed the computer on the coffee table. “You smell good,” she said, snuggling up against him.  
“Good to know the shower works. So guess who we ran into at the gym?”  
“Ivanova?”  
“No. Lennier. Turns out he's got fists of fury. After what we saw, I'd rather have Niann keep beating on me than take thirty seconds of Lennier.”  
“Really? He seems so gentle and deferential. And isn't he Religious Caste?”  
“Apparently that's no barrier; it seems Valen was a martial artist. Speaking of whom, we learned some very interesting things. Turns out our guests are a lot like the rest of the Minbari were before Valen entered the picture. Unruly, pagan, warlike and they killed one another on an epic scale.”  
“That's their number one rule, isn't it? Not killing each other?”  
“Now, anyway. So I took them to the Core today and it terrified them.”  
“I guess if you only knew life on a small ship …” Sinclair nodded.  
“And I can empathize with their shock. It's hard to imagine what it must be like to live your entire life in such isolation. Their experiences are so narrow and there are so few of them. But some things they do are frankly repellent. The way Niann talks about women … and they really detest Lennier. Maybe they'd respect him a little if he'd let loose on them just once. But he'll never do it.”  
“Maybe they resent him for being a Minbari and disproving their beliefs about themselves. ”  
“Maybe. That might explain why they don't have a problem with me; I'm an alien. They don't have to compete with me to prove their legitimacy. But dealing with them can be surprisingly difficult.”  
“All that punching?”  
“That's part of it.” A sheepish expression crossed his face. “What's worse is that Niann keeps ...” he cleared his throat, “he keeps putting his arm around me.” Sakai burst out laughing.  
“That must be sheer hell for you.” Sinclair glanced away and nodded. “Well, you say they're physically expressive; that's just the other side of it.”  
“I know, I know. It would be fine if we were old friends, but it's only been a few days. And I don't particularly like him. He's interesting, but not especially likable.”  
“There are worse things he could be doing.”  
“Like what?”  
“He could be trying to hold your hand.” Sinclair winced.  
“Okay, you're right. It could be worse. Plus it's like Sparta over there with the extreme homosocial setup they have. Who knows just how far it extends.”  
“I thought you loved the Greeks,” Sakai teased.  
“Their literature and philosophy, sure. The rest is … not for me.” She laughed briefly.   
“No, it's not. So what's next?”  
“I turned them over to poor Lennier. He was going to arrange for them to meet with other Minbari and listen to them talk about their lives.”  
“Hey, do you still have your bokken?”  
“Yeah, I think it's in the back of the closet. I haven't used it in ages. Why?”  
“I'm going to show Garibaldi how kendo works.”  
“Where'd that come from?”  
“Oh, just a conversation we had.”  
“I didn't even know the two of you get together to talk.”  
“Once in a while. Why; are you worried?”  
“I'm always worried where Garibaldi's involved,” he smiled. He turned on ISN and his attention shifted.  
“You should be worried; we're having a torrid affair,” she teased.  
“Uh huh.”  
“Really. He's terrified you'll find out.”  
“Sure. If you say so,” he replied absently, watching the screen.   
“It could happen,” she taunted, trying to get his attention. Sinclair looked over at her.  
“You're not his type.”  
“What's his type?”  
“Women who aren't involved with me,” he assured her confidently. “So are you going to teach him to fight or just clobber him?” Sakai grinned back.  
“A little of both.”  
“Well just leave him in one piece when you're done; I can't afford to lose my Chief of Security with those three around.”


	22. Chapter 22

Sinclair's words proved prophetic twelve hours later when Lennier, out of breath, called him on his link.  
“Commander, I have already called Mr. Garibaldi, but ...” some kind of clanging noise drowned him out, “... could use your assistance at ... guest quarters.” Sinclair dropped his paperwork down onto his desk and started for the door.  
“I'll be right there.”

He expected trouble, but not the kind that greeted him in Green Sector. Niann and Burell were fighting with pikes in the guest quarters living room against a Warrior Caste Minbari, while Lennier had knocked Tranen's denn'bok to the floor and had trapped him against the far corner of the room. Wall decorations had been smashed, end tables were broken and the couch had been overturned. They were all yelling in a unintelligible combination of Lenn'a and Lu'shon as weapon struck weapon and occasionally flesh.  
“What the hell?” Garibaldi declared as he arrived on the scene. Sinclair had already waded into the fray, dodging striking denn'boks until he made it across the room and picked up Trenan's pike. “Damn it, Jeff! Get the hell out of there!” He shouted into his link. “I need reinforcements to Green Three with riot gear!” Sinclair snuck up unnoticed behind Niann and using Trenan's denn'bok knocked his legs out from under him. They wrestled on the floor beside the couch until Sinclair succeeded in pulling away Niann's weapon. Garibaldi rushed over to help Sinclair subdue him. It took the two of them combined to keep him down until the rest of Security showed up with shields and batons. Finally the riot was over, and his forehead damp with sweat, Sinclair got to his feet and addressed Lennier.  
“What happened?” he demanded as Security lined all the combatants up against the wall. Somehow deducing the nature of his question, Niann shouted at him angrily in Lu'shon.  
“It is an obscenity!” he declared, struggling against the hands holding him fast. “No woman may touch a denn'bok!” Sinclair looked over and noticed for the first time that the Warrior Caste Minbari was indeed female. “This cannot be allowed! It is a sin, an insult of the gravest kind!” Sinclair turned from him back to Lennier, who was fastidiously straightening out his clothes.  
“I'm sorry, Commander, this is all my fault. It did not occur to me that they would object because she is female,” he apologized, staring down at his feet. “They previously listened to members of the Worker Caste tell them about life on Minbar, although they of course won't concede that's where we are from. Dranen agreed to Delenn's request to give them her perspective as a warrior. But as soon as she walked in, Niann noticed the denn'bok she wore at her waist and well, you have seen the unfortunate results.” Sinclair ran a hand through his damp hair and then opened the top of his jacket.  
“Whadya want me to do with these three?” Garibaldi asked, a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his face.  
“Lock them up until I decide what to do with them. Then get yourself and Ms. Dranen to Medlab. ”  
“Why do you allow women to violate our laws, Sinclair?” Niann shouted as he was escorted from the room. “You are a coward, a woman-lover!”  
“I'm sorry, Commander. I should have predicted this from their earlier behavior towards Delenn.” Sinclair frowned as he picked back up Niann's denn'bok, turning it about and studying it. “You are quite accomplished with that,” Lennier admired, “when and how did you become trained in the use of the denn'bok?”  
“Actually, I've never seen one of these before. How does it close up?”  
“I understand you shake the handle.”  
“Ah,” Sinclair said, testing it out successfully. “So they're not entirely ceremonial after all.”  
“I am sorry about that, Commander; I thought they were only used for sparring matches. What are you going to do with them?”  
“I'm not sure,” Sinclair mused quietly. “But this can't be allowed to continue. Not on my Station.”  
“Delenn still hopes we can coach them into civilized behavior. I do not know what she will think after I have informed her of these events.” Sinclair nodded gravely and again regarded the weapon in his hand.  
“I'll get back to you,” he concluded, exchanging a polite nod with Lennier.


	23. Chapter 23

Sinclair entered his living room and set Niann's closed denn'bok down on the kitchen counter, realizing he should have confiscated the other two as well, then figured Garibaldi had probably given them to Delenn. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it on the chair, continuing to undress as he walked through his quarters to the shower.

“Jeff?” Sakai asked after walking in and seeing his discarded jacket. She went into the bedroom and found him there, putting on fresh clothes. “What are you doing here in the middle of your shift?”  
“Cleaning up. Garibaldi and I had to put out a fire.”  
“Involving your guests?”  
“Who else?” he asked rhetorically, pulling on a clean shirt. “They actually got into a fight with a member of the Warrior Caste … a woman.”  
“Oh no ...”  
“She was holding her own against all three of them long enough for Lennier to step in and pull one of them away; like I told you yesterday, he's quite the martial artist.” He finished buttoning up the cuffs of his shirt.  
“You seem unscathed.”  
“Garibaldi got a little scratched up, but yeah, we're okay.” He sat down heavily on the bed and put on his shoes. “I'm not sure how to get through to them. They're so thick-headed it makes dealing with Londo and G'Kar seem easy,” he sighed and walked over to the closet to retrieve his spare jacket. “I'll have to talk this over with Delenn. So what are you doing back here?” He picked some barely visible lint off the coat before putting it on.  
“I just finished presenting my latest survey and collecting my commission. I thought I'd get my stuff and go do some laps in the pool.” She gave him a quick kiss. “See you tonight for dinner?”  
“I don't know; depends on how soon I can come up with a solution to this crisis. If I'm not back by nineteen hundred, go ahead without me.”


	24. Chapter 24

“I have confirmed that the Ro'sha is one of the ships that was lost a thousand years ago,” Delenn said as she sat beside Sinclair on her couch, pouring them tea. “And so despite the recent incident, we cannot abandon them; they are our people,”  
“I understand your feelings, Delenn, but now they've proven to be a security risk. I was willing to give them some leeway, but I can't very well assign a security team to follow their every move indefinitely.” Delenn bowed her head.  
“Lennier ...”  
“Can't do it. They're contemptuous of him because he's your subordinate,” he sighed regretfully. “And at this point, I'm probably not in favor either. There has to be a way of getting them to follow some basic rules around here if we're going to make any progress.” He accepted the cup she passed him and and took a sip. “How did things work on Minbar in ancient times? Were there any laws or rituals that might be of use to us now?”  
“There were the rulings of the Council of Elders, the Starfire Wheel, the den'sha ...”  
“What's that?” Delenn shook her head ruefully.  
“A battle to the death between two opponents.”  
“I thought 'Minbari don't kill Minbari'?”  
“We do not. Banning the den'sha was one of Valen's earliest decrees.”  
“Is that what I walked in on?” Delenn looked down again uncomfortably.  
“Perhaps ...”  
“What else, Delenn? Give me something we can use.”  
“Not much from that time survives, as you might imagine. A lot was lost in wars and much was actively suppressed after Valen's arrival. Our ways were far more primitive than our technology. There were shamanistic beliefs in magic and auguries, there was the shel'fa'ra ...”  
“Which was?” Delenn looked as close to embarrassed as he'd ever seen her.  
“A primitive ritual whereby one person gained control over another by stealing something belonging to him or her.”  
“What kind of thing?”  
“Some object representing the victim's position in society; a sacred garment or talisman, a valued tool, a weapon ...”  
“A weapon,” Sinclair half-smiled, “like a denn'bok?” Delenn looked at him in surprise.  
“Yes. A warrior must earn the privilege to own one. To have it forcibly or even secretly taken away would be a terrible disgrace. Whomever had it would have the power to order the one who lost it to do their bidding.”  
“What's to keep the victim from disobeying?”  
“Honor of course. The only thing worse than being the subject of the shel'fa'ra is dishonor through one's actions. There is no recovery from that.” Sinclair smiled cannily.  
“Thank you, Delenn, I think you've just solved one of our problems.”


	25. Chapter 25

“So how are the prisoners?” Sinclair asked Garibaldi as he strolled confidently into Security, an subtle air of power about him.  
“If they were Humans, I'd say they were having panic attacks. They really don't like being confined.”  
“And you? All patched up?”  
“Yeah, I'm fine. So's the Warrior Caste woman; kind of banged up but not as badly as you'd think after taking on three opponents.”  
“She may have thought her life was in danger; Delenn thinks Niann and his friends intended to carry out some kind of outdated duel to the death.”  
“They don't still do that sort of thing, do they?”  
“Modern Minbari, no. But our friends are anything but modern.” He paused with a calculated half-smile. “And I'm about to bring some ancient justice down on their heads.”  
“Sounds exciting,” Garibaldi grinned, “can I watch?”  
“Sure. I think an audience will make it that much more effective.” Garibaldi held his arm out towards the end of the hallway in invitation and followed Sinclair to the brig. As soon as they entered the cell, Niann, Burell and Trenan were on their feet, arguing their demands for release and the justness of their outrage.  
“Sit down!” Sinclair growled at them in Lu'shon, and almost without thinking, they did. Sinclair made a show of looking them all over, then lowered himself slowly into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I believe you'll recognize this,” he said, casually producing Niann's denn'bok from his pocket and setting it firmly on end on the table. Niann reached for it and Sinclair brought his fist down on the back of his hand. “I don't think so, Niann. You know about shel'fa'ra, don't you?” Niann paled until even the blue splotch on his head turned white. “I see that you do. This is mine now,” he informed him lowly. “And so are you.” He smiled menacingly. “You understand? You must obey my orders now, no matter what they are.” He let this information sink in while quickly explaining to Garibaldi in English what was going on. “Burell, Trenan,” he said brightly, “don't think I've forgotten you. You know who have your denn'boks? Delenn and Lennier.” Their eyes widened in shock. Trenan looked nauseous. “Unless you want to return to your people in disgrace, all three of you now answer to the three of us. Here's order number one. You will treat all women with respect. And I'd better not hear 'woman-lover' as an insult again. Number two, stop punching. You want to do it to each other, fine. But not to anyone else. Number three, you'll listen to Lennier tell you about how to act on Minbar. If he tells you to waste food ...” he paused for effect, “you'll waste food.” Niann opened his mouth to protest. Sinclair shut it with a menacing glance. “Any questions?”  
“You, you won't tell our people about this, will you?” Trenan asked nervously.  
“That's part of the ritual, isn't it?”  
“Please don't tell them,” begged Burell.  
“But the rules of shel'fa'ra ...” Sinclair taunted, enjoying every second of the exchange.   
“Please Shai Alyt, we'll do what you say. Don't tell anyone!” Niann appealed.  
“Hmm ...” Sinclair pretended to think over the request. “You'll apologize to Dranen?” The three exchanged miserable glances. Niann grunted. “Is that a 'yes'?”  
“Yes,” he replied in pain.  
“And to Delenn for the trouble you caused?” Niann nodded, his eyes downcast.  
“And of course to Lennier. He's only been trying to help you. You owe him an apology too.”  
“Yes,” Niann managed in a small voice.  
“And you'll clean up the room you destroyed. These are my orders.”   
“You really think they're suddenly going to obey you just because you have their poles?” Garibaldi asked skeptically.  
“If not, they lose face. And if that happens, I imagine they won't remain leaders for long.”  
“I'd still just send them back to their ship and let Delenn deal with them.”  
“I'd rather build on our relationship with the Minbari, and this means a lot to her. But trust me, they get out of line again, all bets are off.”  
“I say you're looking for trouble.”  
“Duly noted. Come,” Sinclair directed the other three. “We're going back so you can get started on those apologies.” Mournfully, they followed him from the jail while Garibaldi waved at them.  
“Nothing but trouble,” he said to himself.


	26. Chapter 26

“I gotta warn you; I saw some of this kind of action earlier today.”  
“Is that what sent Jeff home for a shower?”  
“We really got into it with those visiting Minbari. Damn, they're strong,” he said as he weighed the wooden sword in his hand. “So how do we decide who wins short of actually knocking each other out?”  
“Normally it's by points, but the rules about them are complicated. I'd say we'll just know. At some point it'll become obvious who would be the victor in actual combat.”  
“Okay, if you say so. No head shots, right?” Sakai laughed.  
“You can try.”  
“Are you always this cocky?”  
“You haven't beaten me in a challenge yet.”  
“Those are fightin' words. How do we start?”  
“Well normally we'd have more protective gear than just these masks. But get into a ready position and we'll go.”

They fought for ten minutes, striking and counter-striking, each time ending up in a draw. Sakai had discipline, experience and form on her side, but Garibaldi's strength and street skills made him an equal match. They sized each other up again, looking for weakness.

“You can't beat me.”  
“You can't beat me either.”  
“You want to keep going?” he said before feigning an attack and then jabbing at her. Sakai deftly parried him.  
“Why? You getting tired?” she jeered.  
“Hell yeah,” he replied without hesitation, “aren't you?”  
“Yes,” she admitted, then tried a quick strike, but Garibaldi saw it coming and deflected her sword.   
“We should call this before one of us gets hurt.” Reluctantly, Sakai nodded.  
“You're not saying that to catch me off guard are you?” Garibaldi smiled.  
“Wish I'd thought of that, but no.”  
“Okay,” she agreed, stepping back and bowing formally at him. Garibaldi returned the gesture and the sweaty pair considered the situation separately.  
“Let's try one more contest,” he proposed.  
“That'll be two weeks salary, won't it? Don't you think that's taking things a little too far?”  
“I'll be the judge of that, thank you. Assuming you have that kind of cash to risk.”  
“Not a problem.”  
“Surveying must pay awfully well.”  
“If you're any good at it,” she smiled. “But this has got to be the last challenge. I don't want to leave you destitute.”  
“Ooo. You really think I don't earn much, do you?”  
“I know what Jeff's making. You don't.” Garibaldi raised his eyebrows and bounced his head from side to side in chagrin.  
“Alright. One last challenge. This time, let's try something completely different. Do you cook?”  
“Once in a while.”  
“You any good or are you just better at it than Jeff, who we both know can burn water?”  
“I think I'm pretty good.”  
“Good enough to risk taking on a master?” he boasted, rolling back on his heels.  
“A master, no. You? Sure.” Garibaldi laughed with her at the insult.  
“Nice. You're going to regret that remark. Okay, do you want to do favorite dishes or both make the same thing?”  
“I dunno. I assume your wheelhouse is Italian?”  
“You'd be correct. You?”  
“Japanese, naturally.”  
“Those are too different to compare. Maybe we should both try a cuisine neither of us specializes in. French?”  
“Ugh, too much butter and complicated sauces. How about something alien?”  
“I don't even eat alien.” Sakai frowned at him.  
“You live on Babylon 5 but don't eat alien cuisine?”  
“Nope. You ever seen some of that stuff? Bright blue and creamy? Grey and gelatinous? Still squirming? No thank you. I'll stick to what we came up with on Earth.”  
“Why don't we pick a judge and let them choose the kind of food? How about Jeff? He's good at being impartial.”  
“Are you kidding? Who's gonna pick their friend over their girl?”  
“We won't tell him who made what.”  
“Nah. Besides, he's hardly got what I'd call a discerning palette. Between that boarding school and the Academy, he's learned to eat anything. How about Stephen Franklin?”  
“He's your friend; I barely know him. It has to be someone who won't show favoritism.”  
“That'd be Ivanova. I'm not even sure she likes anyone. Or anything.” Sakai laughed lightly.  
“Okay, let's ask her.”  
“Good. Let's shake on it.” He put out his hand and Sakai took it.  
“Done. But it has to be soon; I leave for a survey run next Wednesday.”  
“I'll go talk to her. Later,” Garibaldi said, handing her back Sinclair's bokken and turning his back on her with a wave.


	27. Chapter 27

Sakai returned to find Sinclair at his computer again.

“More Minbari lessons?” she asked. He looked up at her and smiled.  
“Some. But I'm spending so much time on them I'm starting to fall behind on my other duties. I'm trying to catch up now.” He glanced at the pair of wooden swords she was putting away in the closet. “How'd it go?” She walked back to the living room.  
“Garibaldi is a tough opponent. He doesn't know any of the kata, of course, but he's effective in his own eccentric way. I hear your encounter earlier was a bit of a sword fight too; you left that part out.”  
“One move,” Sinclair shrugged, “then it was a plain old brawl. Good thing I had Garibaldi to help. There's nothing quite like an angry Minbari or four. Check this out.” He got up from behind the desk, walked over to the kitchen counter and carefully took Niann's denn'bok off of it. Making sure he was clear of Sakai and everything else, he opened it.  
“Woah. Where'd that come from?”  
“It belongs, or more accurately, belonged, to Niann. It's called a denn'bok. It's a fighting weapon and so long as I have it, Niann has to obey my orders.”  
“Why is that?” Sinclair played around with it a little.  
“A loss of status thing. He let me take it away and so now he's my subordinate. He did some serious damage with this,” he observed, offering it to Sakai. She weighed it in her hands and like Sinclair, swung it about in the air.  
“So now I have it,” she remarked with a knowing smile. “Does that mean you both answer to me?” Sinclair considered the question with a grin.  
“In here, maybe. Out there, that's another story.”  
“I'm not interested in out there,” she said, closing the denn'bok and sidling up to him.  
“I didn't think so. Can I take a few minutes to finish up here?”  
“Yeah, I guess. But after that you're mine.” Sinclair gave her the kind of look that made her shiver.  
“We may have to fight for supremacy,” he warned her in a low and gravely threat, his voice deep with a special kind of aggression.  
“It could be a long, hot battle,” she agreed. “Are you up for it?” He repaid her with a hungry stare and backed her into the wall.  
“You know, I think I'm done working after all.”


	28. Chapter 28

“I'm surprised you asked to meet here this morning,” Sinclair said mildly to Delenn as they walked through the maze in the garden. “This is usually our after-hours place.”  
“I wished this to be an informal conversation,” she explained, stealing a glance at his friendly but carefully controlled expression. She wondered sometimes exactly what it was Sinclair was so intently concerned with hiding from her and if it had anything at all to do with the secrets she hoped she was successfully keeping from him. There were moments when she was tempted to tell him everything, if only to see who he really was when his guard wasn't up; to see if what she'd glimpsed in the Triluminary's light a decade before was true. No, that wasn't quite it. She fully believed it was true, but until the moment when he knew it too, she couldn't say she'd really seen the face of her savior. In the meanwhile, she merely sought his council.  
“Is it about our guests?” he asked. “Were they any more cooperative after my conversation with them?”  
“Yes, remarkably so, though of course I am sorry it took threats to convince them. They now admit we exist but remain unwilling to accept that we're actually from the same planet their ancestors are from or that their ways are a distortion of what it means to be Minbari.”  
“About that; I've been wondering; did your people ever practice gender separation?”  
“No. Their misogyny is most un-Minbari-like. Single sex housing is typical for young people in Temple and I have heard that youth in the Warrior Caste live and train separately by gender, but that's only until adulthood.”  
“The boarding school I went to was all boys and I'm sure it was for the same reasons,” he smiled. “But Niann claims the sexes have always lived apart on his ship; all the men live in dormitories together and the women in a smaller section of the ship. All the decision making and important technical jobs are done by the men. The women are relegated to second class status. I've never encountered anything like it myself, although I'd be lying if I didn't admit Earth worked that way a few centuries back.”  
“It is difficult for me to understand these changes; on Minbar life is much the same today as it was a millennium ago. If you or I were to travel back in time to those days, almost everything would be familiar to us.”   
“Except for your religion, I suppose.”  
“Most of our people were already moving away from paganism when Valen arrived. His philosophy helped further advance our spiritual understanding of the universe.” She sat down on a stone bench in front of an abstract sculpture, her hands between her knees. Sinclair joined her but in a distinctly masculine way, leaning forward with his hands clasped loosely in front of him and his legs spread wide. “I pity them, Commander. They've missed out on so many small pleasures we take for granted; the sunset reflecting off the crystal spires of Yedor, temshewee song echoing in Valen's Chapel in Tuzanor and most especially the unity with past generations we experience when performing our rituals. I expected them to be more enthusiastic about learning what they have lost, and to be eager to reintegrate.”  
“Well, to be fair, Delenn,” he ventured carefully, “what you regard as things they've lost are all new to them.”  
“But we are a people who strive for unity above all. No one on Minbar has ever lived apart, alone, Commander. Everything we do is in concert with many circles of connection; of our families, clans and castes. Those changes which came with the guidance of Valen were experienced communally, in an unbroken line with the rest of our history. You have told me of some Humans who choose to live solitary lives, cut off from other people; what is the word you taught me? Hermits? There are no such people among the Minbari. Or there weren't until you found these eighty who were lost.”  
“Your inability to relate to them troubles you.”  
“No, it is their inability to relate to us.” Sinclair chuckled quietly, but responded seriously.  
“It was only a day or so ago you were assuring me that they just needed more time.”  
“Yes, but that was before the … incident with Drenan. The idea that they would actually challenge her to den'sha ...”  
“So what happened to change your people, Delenn? It couldn't all have been Valen.”  
“He was an exceptional man, unlike any other. He led us to victory in a terrible war, and when he promised us another way of life, one that would unite us in peace, we were eager to follow.”  
“As simple as that?”  
“There was nothing simple about it.”  
“Then you should accept that it won't be easy to get Niann and his people to assimilate. Especially,” he laughed, “since Valen's not around.” Delenn looked at him strangely.  
“It is not that,” she assured him, then stood up, her golden robes rustling. She took a few steps away, then came back. “You will not repeat this to Lennier, but you are correct; they do not respect him. And their perverse attitude toward women means I am unable to speak to them directly. You however ...” She knelt in front of him and Sinclair leaned forward toward her. “Niann appears to respect you.” Sinclair tilted his head at her with a mild half-smile of protest.  
“I've got his denn'bok. That's all.”  
“It is more than that. He's clearly impressed by you and asks for you when you are absent. You were the first person he met and you brought them out of hyperspace. Perhaps he sees you as a redeemer, as we see Valen.” Sinclair spread his hands wide and gave her a crooked smile.  
“That's a bit of a stretch. At any rate, I can't teach him or his seconds about Minbar.”  
“But you might be able to influence his behavior and choices. Your race is a diverse one. You are accustomed to dealing with differing perspectives. You understand what can motivate people to trade their independence for communal harmony and the greater good even when they live in a society that does not expect it of them. I, however, can only speak to Minbari minds like my own. I am ill-equipped to sway Minbari hermits. I know you have other responsibilities, Commander, a great many of them. But I need your continued help in this. Eighty souls hang in the balance.”  
“This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?” Delenn bowed her head.  
“Yes.”  
“Then I'll do what I can. But Delenn, that may not be much. Don't misplace your trust in my abilities.”  
“Why do you do that?” she asked, rising back up from her knees and again taking a seat beside him.  
“Do what?”  
“Minimize your talents? You are a far better leader than you credit yourself to be.” Sinclair shifted awkwardly.  
“Much of Earth Gov would disagree with you. I'm afraid I'm not well regarded in the eyes of my government these days. A lot of things I've done here in the past year and how I've gone about them … I'm not as secure in my position as I was when President Santiago first assigned me to this post. In fact,” he said, looking directly into her hazel eyes, “I'm not sure how I got this job in the first place.” Delenn looked away quickly.  
“Does it matter? You are here and have accomplished a great deal. Valen said that at a certain point, too much humility becomes unwarranted pride.”  
“He had something to say about everything, this prophet of yours.”  
“He knew also when quiet actions were most effective.” Again she stood back up. “You will come and take charge of our three guests later today? I have lined up meetings for them with Ambassadors G'Kar and Mollari in order to introduce them to others not of our kind. Perhaps after that you would talk with them?”  
“Yes,” he consented.  
“Then I am content.” Taking the cue, Sinclair stood up and walked back out of the maze beside her.


	29. Chapter 29

Sinclair spun away from the BabCom system in his office just as Garibaldi walked in.   
“Woah. You look like you've been howling into a Martian windstorm.”  
“I've just gotten orders from Earth Gov and I may as well have been yelling into a storm for all the good it did me.” He sat down in his desk chair, shaking his head. “They just won't listen to reason!” he exclaimed in frustration as Garibaldi parked himself on the edge of the desk.  
“Earth Gov? Reason? Those two things never go together. What kind of orders?”  
“It seems Earth Force Advance Research Project has read over our reports and found them very interesting,” Sinclair said more quietly, picking up his thermos and pouring a cup of synthetic coffee. “So much so that they want exclusive access to study the ship. My orders are to evacuate the inhabitants to B5 so the Hercules can come by to pick up the Ro'sha and take it back to Earth.”  
“What? It's a Minbari ship.” Sinclair nodded, a frustrated look on his face.  
“According to Earth Gov, it's nothing more than a high stakes game of 'finders, keepers'. We located it and towed it back here, therefore it's ours.” He waved his mug in the air. “They don't see anything problematic at all about taking it.”  
“We both know they want to crack the secrets of artificial gravity and see if it's true the Minbari have organic tech. But Delenn'll never give you the okay.”  
“And as I see it, the ship doesn't belong to the Minbari Federation either; it belongs to those eighty occupants who haven't yet learned enough to make a decision about what they want to do or where they want to go.” He took a sip of his coffee.  
“Do we really want to start another conflict with the Minbari? Did they at least give you a chance to explain what a bad idea that is?”   
“No and no. 'We're not interested in your personal opinion of Earth Force Advance Research, Commander,' Senator Gant tells me; 'your job is to get those people off that ship.'”  
“What are you gonna tell Delenn?”  
“The truth; that I've been ordered to offer Niann the option of staying here with his people instead of going to Minbar.”  
“No way. We've both seen those guys in action. We can't handle all eighty of them living here long term without you doing a whole lot more voodoo on them.”  
“What's worse is I just promised Delenn I'd try to help convince Niann and the others that Minbar is the place they belong and that they need to modify their conduct accordingly. Now I'm caught between a promise to her and orders from Central. I've got half a mind to resign just so I can watch some other poor bastard sort this all out ...” Garibaldi's eyebrows shot up.  
“You wouldn't really ...”  
“Nah,” Sinclair reassured him, leaning back wearily in his chair. “I'm just blowing off steam,” he grimaced. “It would serve the brass right, though. Hell, I'd like to see Senator Gant try to make it through one of Niann's 'friendly greetings.'”  
“So what are you gonna do?”  
“I've got two weeks before the Hercules arrives. If they leave before it gets here, there's nothing Earth Gov can expect me to do about it. If they decide to stay, maybe they'll give Earth permission to take it after all and it'll be Delenn who's unhappy with me.”  
“Either way, you're still gonna catch heat about it.” Sinclair nodded.  
“Yeah. But honestly, I'd rather deal with our government than with an angry Grey Council. One encounter with them was enough.”  
“Do you still think Delenn's one of them?” Sinclair nodded gravely.   
“Yes.”  
“You been hanging out with Kosh lately? 'Cause you're starting to sound like him.” Sinclair laughed. “Anyway, have you got the time for our usual Security update meeting?”  
“Sure, but make it quick.”


	30. Chapter 30

“Shai Alyt Sinclair!” Niann exclaimed, abruptly stopping himself seconds away from punching Sinclair's shoulder.  
“Good afternoon, Niann,” he answered, sympathetically tapping him on the arm so Niann could gently complete the intended gesture. “Lennier, Burell, Trenan,” he addressed the others in turn, “how were your meetings with the Ambassadors?” Lennier quickly dropped his eyes to the floor, speaking volumes to Sinclair.  
“The Narn admired our spirit,” Niann began proudly, “and invited us to come to his world.” Sinclair raised his brows.  
“I suppose that's something you could do,” Sinclair ventured carefully, “but you should know that Narn is recovering from a very long and brutal war. The planet is very bare. Among other things, they won't have the foods you like and might not be able to grow them at all.”  
“That's why the Narn is interested in us,” Burrell cut in, “he said they could use our hydroponics expertise.” Lennier translated the more complicated words for Sinclair.  
“Ah.” Leave it to G'Kar to always be working an angle, Sinclair thought cynically. “And what did Ambassador Mollari have to say?”  
“He promised to come back and show us where you keep all the women,” Trenan explained happily.  
“We don't 'keep' women anywhere, Trenan. As I've explained to you ...”  
“That's not what he told us. He is not a woman-lov ...” Niann punched him, nervously remembering Sinclair's instructions from the day before.  
“Shut up, Trenan,” he hissed, looking worriedly at Sinclair.  
“He also told us about some kind of games he would teach us, but we don't understand what it means to 'win credits',” said Burell.  
“They have no experience with any kind of monetary system,” Lennier explained. He looked over at Niann, who was pretending, as usual, not to notice him. “As I told them, this will not be a concern for them on Minbar. Our government will take care of their necessary expenses.”  
“That's very generous, Niann. It sounds like Delenn and Lennier are really looking out for you.”  
“Lennier did not offer us women,” Burell scoffed and the other two laughed. Sinclair felt a headache coming on.  
“Well,” he began with a forced smile, “are you ready to see more of the Station? I'll warn you now, it's very big and crowded with all kinds of people.”  
“Will you show us the women?” Burell asked. Sinclair sighed.  
“Remember what I said yesterday? You must be respectful of others no matter their gender. And no hitting anyone. They won't recognize it as a friendly greeting.”  
“No women,” Trenan whispered in disappointment to Niann.  
“Well then, Mr. Lennier, we'll leave you to your usual tasks.”  
“Thank you, Commander,” he said with eager relief. His small smile faded as he continued. “But Ambassador Mollari said he'd be back around eighteen hundred hours to take them to see his favorite parts of the Station.”  
“I'll be sure to bring them back by then,” Sinclair told him, but not without some concern himself about that idea. “Alright, gentlemen; follow me.” 

The three trailed after him into the transport tube, down the hall and into the Zocalo, where they scanned the space and the people in it, dumbfounded.

“This is the cultural center of the Station, where people meet, talk and trade things with each other,” Sinclair explained simply.   
“There are more people here than on our entire ship,” Niann managed breathlessly.  
“Yes, and this is just a small fraction of Babylon 5's population. On Minbar, of course, there are billions of people.”  
“Billions?”  
“Many millions?”  
“Yes, we know the number,” Niann scoffed, “but people? That is not possible.” Sinclair smiled indulgently.  
“It seems that way to you now, but you'll see if you go there that it's true.” He thought for a moment. “Niann, have there always been so few of you on your ship?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, it seems like a very big ship for less than a hundred people.”  
“No, it's this place that's too big,” Trenan interrupted as he looked around.  
“What's wrong with that person?” demanded Burell in alarm.  
“Nothing; that's how the Llort look. As I said, there are all kinds of people from different planets here.”  
“Ugh!” Niann exclaimed as a shambling figure shuffled by, physically recoiling. “That can't be normal! Nothing could be that ugly and deformed!”  
“It's normal for the Pak'ma'ra. Not everyone's appearance is going to appeal to you, but please be polite to them anyway.”  
“Being polite is for women,” Niann exclaimed. “It's not the way of men.”  
“I've tried to be polite to you,” Sinclair protested.  
“Maybe you only look like you're a man. You seem to be very concerned with women now that I think about it.” Sinclair sighed.  
“They're half the population, Niann. You're missing out on everything they have to offer.”  
“We know exactly what they have to offer,” laughed Burell. Niann and Trenan joined in while Sinclair rolled his eyes away. Trenan took a few steps forward toward a kiosk, where he began randomly touching things. “What is this?”  
“Those are fruits and vegetables from the plants you saw growing in the Core. They are for sale here … did Lennier explain to you how money works?”  
“Probably,” scoffed Niann, “but who listened? He never stops speaking of false ways.” The other two laughed.  
“What will it take to convince you those are Minbari ways? Ones you'll need to adopt if you decide to live there?”  
“You ask questions with no answers, Shai Alyt,” Niann responded after a long pause, then put his arm around Sinclair's shoulders as if in apology.   
“Hey! You gotta pay for that first!” the shopkeeper at the Fruits stand ordered Trenan as he demonstrated more curiosity than Niann had displayed in the Core and bit into an apple. Sinclair was relieved to have the chance to disentangle himself.  
“My apologies,” he said, walking over and offering up his credit chit. “These men are new to the Station. He didn't mean to steal anything from you; he just doesn't understand how things work.”  
“Oh, Commander. I didn't know they were with you. Don't worry about it,” the shopkeeper said, waving Sinclair's money off.  
“Are you sure?” Sinclair glanced away momentarily and saw that Burell and Niann were smelling, squeezing and tossing expensive fresh fruits around. “Please take this,” Sinclair insisted to the clerk, again offering his card before he turned to the Minbari. “Tell me you want something before taking it,” he admonished. “Otherwise you could get into trouble.”  
“Why?” Niann asked, puzzled.  
“Taking something without asking and without paying for it is a crime called stealing.” He saw there was no enlightenment in Niann's eyes. “It's like wasting food,” he tried.  
“But that one man can't possibly eat all this himself; he's wasting food by keeping it all to himself!” Sinclair nodded slightly; from Niann's perspective, he had a point. He'd never thought his duties aboard the Station would include having to explain the basic principles of free market economics to people who lived entirely inside a closed collectivist society.  
“According to our system, it's his food to waste or sell as he chooses. To sell means that if he has something I want, he may decide to trade it for something I have or, if I don't have anything he wants I can give him a special token he can use to save or to get something from someone else who does have what he wants. You really should have listened to Lennier explain this to you. He speaks Lu'shan better than I do. Burell, what did I just ask you to do?” he exclaimed in frustration as the Minbari pocketed a piece of jewelry from a neighboring display.  
“Oh. I want this.”  
“Put it back.” Burell looked at Niann, who shrugged to say he didn't understand the reason either, but gestured to him to return the item as Sinclair continued to stare at them with displeasure. Burell then pulled another three pieces out of his coat and hung them back where he'd gotten them. “Now, if you would please stop taking things, maybe we can continue our tour ...”


	31. Chapter 31

“Hi!” Sinclair greeted Sakai cheerfully as he nearly walked into her at the door to his quarters. Sakai glowered at him as she muscled passed him into the doorway, a fully-packed duffle on her shoulder.  
“You bastard! How could you?”  
“What? What did I do?”  
“Cheating on me with a prostitute? You disgust me!”  
“What?” he repeated, “what are you talking about? I would never ...”  
“Don't give me that innocent routine; if you didn't want me to find out about it maybe you should have paid her instead of skipping out on the bill!”  
“What bill? What prostitute? You honestly think I'd pay for sex?” Sinclair frowned with enough indignation to match her own.  
“Well that's the problem, isn't it? You didn't pay so she was just here looking to collect what you owe her!”  
“Catherine, I swear I have no idea what you're talking about. I'd never cheat on you and I've never gone to a prostitute! There's been some kind of misunderstanding ...”  
“Oh, it's no misunderstanding; she was quite clear. You owe her a hundred and fifty credits for oral and straight sex and an extra twenty five for being so rough.”  
“My God, nothing like that ever happened!”  
“She says if you don't pay her today, she'll spread the word about your … proclivities.” Sinclair stared at her open mouthed in disbelief, then repeated himself again.  
“I swear I ...” His link chirped at him. “Sinclair,” he barked at it.  
“Commander, this is Lennier. I'm sorry to bother you, but I've lost Niann ...” Sinclair gestured to Sakai to stay put.  
“What do you mean you lost him?” he asked in alarm.  
“Ambassador Mollari took them to an … establishment. I accompanied them in order to translate. It was quite … there were women who … we were leaving, got separated for a moment and when I looked back Niann was gone. I escorted Burell and Tranen back to their quarters and returned to Brown Three to look for him, but ...”  
“Brown Three? Down Below?”  
“It is most certainly not a place I would have taken them, but Ambassador Mollari insisted ...” The proverbial lightbulb went off in Sinclair's head.  
“Go home. I'll take care of this.” He turned his attention back to Sakai. “Did that woman give you a name?”  
“'Luna.' Why …” He interrupted her angry reply.  
“I think she got my name from Niann. Don't go anywhere; give me a chance to clear this all up, okay?” She looked at him warily. “Sinclair to Garibaldi.”  
“Garibaldi here.”  
“Meet me in Brown Three. Niann's gone missing.”  
“What? How the hell did he get down there?”  
“Londo.”  
“Aw jeeze. Alright, I'm on my way.”  
“I'll be back, okay?” he said as he dashed back out the door, leaving Sakai staring after him a little less furiously and with a lot more curiosity.


	32. Chapter 32

“How long has he been missing?”  
“About an hour. But before we go looking, I need to pay a prostitute who calls herself 'Luna'; do you know where we can find her?”  
“You what?” Garibaldi asked in astonishment. “You're the last man I'd've thought would …”  
“It wasn't me,” Sinclair declaimed with irritation, “but I'm pretty sure it was Niann. If we find her maybe we'll be able to find out where he is. He met her at some club Londo took them to down here.”  
“Hmm. Londo only comes here when he's down to his last ducat, and when that happens he goes to Utopia. Watch your back and follow me ...” 

It didn't take them long to find the strip club where Luna worked out of a back room.  
“Are you Luna?” Sinclair began to introduce himself, “I'm Com … I'm Sinclair. I believe you had some trouble with a Minbari earlier today?”  
“There you are! Yeah, I didn't understand a word he said, but he got what he wanted alright. Then when I gave him the bill he kept saying 'shy, elite Sinclair'. Pretty weird description, but you're the only Sinclair on the Station so it's gotta be you; you good for it or what?” Sinclair sighed.  
“How much does he owe you?”  
“One seventy-five. Make it two hundred to cover my trouble collecting,” she demanded. Sinclair reached for his credit chit. Garibaldi held him off and pulled out his own.  
“You've got a reputation to uphold,” he reminded, “me, not so much.” Luna took the card and went to her reader to deduct the money.  
“I'll see to it the Minbari government reimburses you,” Sinclair assured Garibaldi.  
“You're actually gonna give Delenn a bill for this? That I'd like to see!”  
“I'm not looking forward to it, believe me.” Luna returned and gave Garibaldi his card back.  
“That was my first bonehead,” she informed them off-handedly, “did you know they have a blue ...”  
“Look, do you have any idea where he went off to?” Sinclair asked hastily.  
“If I did, I wouldn't have gone all the way up to Blue Sector to find you.”  
“Welsh to Garibaldi!”  
“What is it Lou?”  
“You better get to Brown Five; there's a huge fight going on at the Underworld bar! Some Minbari is holding off three of my guys with a pipe!” Garibaldi and Sinclair glanced at each other.  
“Niann!” Sinclair declared and they took off for Brown Five.

When they arrived, the shoddy room was significantly more broken-down than usual. Lou Welsh and three Security officers stood helplessly against the walls of the room alongside the few patrons who remained conscious, while Niann, in a blind rage, smashed everything in sight with a three foot long section of metal piping.  
“What the hell happened here? How did this get started?” Garibaldi demanded.  
“It was outta no where,” the bartender informed him shakily, flattening himself further against the wall as Niann spun in their direction. “He finished his drink and then he just went berserk!”  
“His drink? What the hell did you serve him?”  
“He poured himself a glass outta someone's pitcher ...”  
“You idiot! Don't you know you can't give alcohol to a Minbari?”  
“I'm telling you, he served himself!”  
“Niann!” Sinclair called, stepping forward. The Minbari turned his head, revealing bloodshot eyes and a glazed and maniacal expression. Seeming not to recognize him, Niann advanced with the rod held over his head. Garibaldi shoved Sinclair aside and grabbed a chair.  
“We tried spraying him but that only made him crazier,” Walsh warned.  
“We need an Active Denial System down here stat!” Garibaldi demanded and one of his men ran off to get it.   
“Niann! Stop!” Sinclair ordered futilely in Lu'shon, “You've been poisoned; stop!”  
“It's no use, Commander,” Garibaldi shouted while trying to push Niann back with the chair, “they go completely nuts on booze; there's no reasoning with 'em at all! We may have to wing him ...”  
“I'd like to avoid that,” Sinclair said, reluctantly ducking along with a Security guard behind a table.  
“I'm sure you would but … we may not … shit … have a choice!” Niann turned his attention to the bar itself, annihilating all the bottles and glassware.  
“Who's gonna pay for all this?” the bartender cried above the din.  
“You shouldn't have let him in in the first place!” Garibaldi scolded. “Edelstein! Gorom! Get those guys out of here while we can!” he ordered, indicating two unconscious victims who lay away from Niann's immediate reach. “You too, Commander! Go on, get out!”  
“I got it, Chief!” declared the returning Security officer, handing him a large gun-like device with a round metal dish at the end.  
“Alright, everyone get ready to rush him! Firing!” An invisible beam of burning microwaves struck Niann on the hand and he howled in pain and dropped his makeshift weapon. “Now!” All of the Security officers rushed forward and got Niann on the ground, but he was so crazed it took a huge struggle to disable, cuff and hobble him.  
“Sinclair to Medlab; report to the Underworld bar in Brown Five; we have two wounded men and a violent and hallucinating Minbari here,” Sinclair ordered into his link. The bartender confronted him.  
“I asked, who's gonna pay for this? He's destroyed everything!” Sinclair frowned sternly at him.  
“You do realize this is an illegal establishment?”  
“Gimme a permit and I'll be happy to move topside. But either way, that was my property he's ruined.”  
“You should be happy to come out of this alive,” Sinclair scolded. “If you send me a bill I'll see if the Minbari want to reimburse you for anything. Now get out of the way.”  
“Commander?” Dr. Franklin demanded when he arrived on the scene a few minutes later. “What happened to these men?”  
“He happened,” Garibaldi answered for Sinclair, jerking a thumb at Niann as he was carried, still struggling, into the hall.   
“He drank some beer,” Sinclair said. Franklin whistled.  
“So this is what it's like when they're intoxicated,” he remarked with scientific curiosity. “I studied it in med school, but ...”  
“A little less talk, a little more knock out drugs?” Garibaldi complained, and Franklin turned to comply.  
“I'll follow up with you later,” Sinclair assured them. “Meanwhile I've got to break the news about this to Delenn and patch things up with Catherine; Luna paid her a visit.”  
“Yikes,” Garibaldi exclaimed. “There's always my couch if you need a place to sleep tonight.”  
“I've got one of my own,” Sinclair sighed.

Sinclair was in the transport tube when his link went off again. “Sinclair.”  
“Commander, this is C and C. We have an unscheduled ship coming through the jumpgate … it's a Minbari Cruiser. Gun ports are open!” Sinclair shook his head at this latest crisis.  
“On my way.”


	33. Chapter 33

“What have we got?” he asked Ivanova as he entered the Observation Dome.  
“It's the Ingata.”  
“The Ingata? Neroon's ship?” Sinclair looked over at her inquisitively.  
“Yes; and he's asked to speak to you and you alone.”   
“Alright. Put him through. Alyt Neroon? Your visit is most unexpected.” Neroon coldly cut to the chase.   
“You have located a lost Minbari vessel with a substantial crew on board. Have you been in contact with their Shai Alyt?”  
“I don't know if he's actually an Alyt, but their leader is here aboard the Station. But I'm afraid he's indisposed at the moment ...”  
“Do not give me excuses, Commander; you have no right to interfere in Minbari matters.”  
“With all due respect, Alyt Neroon,” Sinclair began, unconsciously working his jaw in irritation, “it was myself and members of my staff who rescued the ship from hyperspace. Ambassador Delenn and I …”  
“Delenn is Religious Caste,” Neroon snapped. “If they are Warrior Caste they are none of her concern,” he informed Sinclair imperiously. “I have orders direct from the highest levels of our government. I am to contact their leader, determine if they're Warrior Caste and if so deliver the ship and its passengers back to homeworld.” Sinclair gave him a weak smile.  
“That may be, Alyt, but as Commander of this Station I'm authorized to negotiate only with Ambassador Delenn.”  
“I will be transporting over and I expect you to take me to the ship's leader at once, Commander.” The way he said Sinclair's rank made it sound like an obscenity. He glowered briefly at Sinclair and then abruptly closed the channel. Sinclair glanced over at Ivanova.  
“Just what we needed; another conflict involving that ship. I'm starting to wish Catherine had never found it in the first place.” He turned to an officer at the communications station. “Put me through to Mr. Garibaldi.”  
“Garibaldi. What now, Commander?”  
“Yet another Minbari visitor has arrived. Alyt Neroon. Meet me at the Arrivals and Departures lounge to greet him.”  
“Alyt Neroon? As in threaten to make war over a dead body, Neroon?”  
“The one and only. I hope.”  
“Alright, I'm on my way.”  
“Ivanova,” Sinclair said, “give Neroon's flyer priority to land. And keep an eye on their weapons system. If they lock on ...”  
“Understood, Commander.”


	34. Chapter 34

“Alyt Neroon; welcome again to Babylon 5,” Sinclair tried diplomatically as Neroon, glowering under his green-lined black hood, came through the customs gate.  
“We are both warriors, Commander,” Neroon said with his own kind of courtesy, “there is no need for meaningless ritual greetings. Take me to see the ship's leader.”  
“I'm afraid that's impossible at the moment, Alyt; he's in MedLab. He's been involved in several … incidents today and is currently recuperating. With your permission, I could brief both you and the Ambassador on his condition at the same time.” Neroon considered the proposal.  
“Hmph,” he conceded reluctantly.   
“Mr. Garibaldi, please alert Ambassador Delenn that the Alyt and I are on our way to her quarters. Alyt ...” Sinclair held out his hand in invitation. With his chin held high, Neroon joined Sinclair in heading for the transport tube. Inside, he dropped his hood to his shoulders and began drilling Sinclair for answers.  
“Exactly how many of my people are aboard that ship, Commander? What is their condition?” he asked in a deep voice that was as inherently cold as Sinclair's was warm.   
“Eighty women and men, although I didn't meet them all during my brief tour of the ship. According to Delenn, their ancestors left Minbar over a thousand years ago. At some point their ship's drive engines malfunctioned and they were lost in hyperspace until we located them a few days ago.”  
“Long-term survival in hyperspace is impossible.”  
“It's a generations ship, Neroon; they've been entirely self-sufficient. It's an impressive operation they have. We brought their Naia, Niann, aboard along with two of his aides, Burell and Trenan; they each represent different clans.” Neroon frowned.  
“Different clans? Living together on a single ship? That is unlikely. What caste did they say they are?”  
“They claim none. They do however seem to have a military bent. You may have noticed their open gun ports.” Neroon smiled the slightest bit at that information as they stepped into the hall in Green Sector. “I should warn you, Alyt, they are not like any Minbari I've met before.”  
“They are Minbari. That is all that matters.”  
“You may not feel that way after I tell you about today's events.” Sinclair reached forward and rang Delenn's door chime.

“Come in,” she said. There was a long, uncomfortable moment as her eyes met with Neroon's. “Alyt Neroon. Your arrival here is a surprise. Have you stopped to resupply?”  
“You know why I am here, Delenn. The ship.”  
“By whose authority?” she demanded as Sinclair and Lennier looked on uneasily.  
“That of Satai Minnar.” Neroon smiled faintly at Delenn's surprise. “He is ...”  
“I know very well who he is,” Delenn snapped. “This is most improper; you should have informed me that you were coming.”  
“Apologies,” he said insincerely, “but I could not hesitate having been given orders directly from the Council. I was told to come as quickly as possible.” The two glared at each other again, Delenn forced by Sinclair's presence not to pull her own rank as a Grey Council member over Neroon. Sinclair saw his opening.  
“If I may, the hour is late. I'd like to brief you both on Niann's activities today and then leave you to your own discussions.”  
“Of course, Commander,” Delenn said, sliding back into her usual grace as Ambassador. “If you will both take seats, Lennier will bring us all tea.”  
“That is unnecessary,” Neroon declared bluntly, “I have no intention of remaining here any longer than I must.”  
“Well, first of all,” Sinclair broke in, “I have some bad news. Niann is in MedLab.” At Delenn's alarmed expression he hurried to reassure her. “Dr. Franklin says he'll be fine by tomorrow. As I'm sure Lennier told you, Ambassador Mollari took them on an excursion today. Niann became separated from the group somehow and ended up two sections over in a bar … a drinking establishment,” he explained for Neroon's benefit. “Niann has no understanding of the idea of personal property, so he thought nothing of helping himself to another patron's drink. Unfortunately for all involved, it contained alcohol.”  
“Alcohol?” Neroon exclaimed. “Your Earth poison?”  
“Yes, I'm afraid so. Although I still have his denn'bok, he found another weapon and ...” Neroon jumped to his feet.  
“You have possession of a warrior's denn'bok? This is an outrage! Such an item it is not to be handled by anyone but the warrior himself; most especially not by a Human!” he hissed.  
“Sit down,” Delenn ordered him calmly. “The Commander has my permission to keep it in the interest of peace on his Station.” Neroon refused to sit or to contain his anger.  
“That is unacceptable,” he snapped, “as a member of the Religious Caste you have no right to intrude upon the customs of the Warrior Caste! How dare you allow this Human to defile ...”  
“Mind your place!” Delenn demanded, rising to her feet. “Who are you to challenge my authority here?” Neroon sank back down across from Sinclair and bowed his head.  
“Forgive me, Ambassador Delenn. It was wrong of me to overstep my bounds in my passion for our traditions. I have spoken unwisely and inappropriately.” Sinclair glanced at him curiously; Neroon's sudden humility confirmed his belief that Delenn was not at all whom she presented herself to be.  
“How is Niann now, Commander?” she asked, turning smoothly towards him.  
“Dr. Franklin thinks it best to keep him sedated until the toxic effects of the alcohol have worn off. Before we could stop him, Niann went into a frenzy, severely injured two people and completely destroyed the bar.”  
“Will they recover?” she asked softly.  
“One suffered both a head wound and a collapsed lung. He remains in critical condition. The other has two broken arms. The bartender has lost his entire business.”  
“Please see to it that any bills for their medical needs and to reconstruct the establishment are sent to me. As a Minbari is responsible for these unfortunate events, my government will of course make restitution.” Sinclair nodded to her, then cleared his throat.  
“There is something else. Another bill to be paid. One of a more … sensitive nature.” He hesitated. “Before going into the bar, Niann became … involved with a woman. Certain services were provided that he did not pay for.”  
“What kind of services?” Neroon demanded. Sinclair considered how to explain things to them in the way most likely to leave his eardrums intact. He decided on the direct approach.  
“There are people, both Human and alien, who rent their bodies for the sexual entertainment of their clients ...” A terrible silence took over the room as Delenn and Neroon exchanged horrified glances. Lennier turned very pale and Sinclair felt sorry for all of them.  
“That, that cannot be so in this instance, Commander. Minbari do not take such matters lightly; there are many rituals which must be fulfilled before ...” Delenn began. Sinclair shifted uneasily.  
“The woman in question is not Minbari.”  
“Impossible!” Neroon declared, on his feet again. “No Minbari has ever, will ever, engage in sexual activity with an alien! It is an abomination!”   
“I warned you, Alyt. Niann and his people are not the same as yours. They don't follow your laws and customs. They live according to their own rules.”  
“From first contact with other sentient life twelve hundred years ago ...”  
“I'm sorry, Neroon, Delenn,” he glanced over his shoulder, “Lennier. But like it or not, Niann visited a prostitute. And he didn't pay her for services rendered. It's not something I personally approve of either, but it is a legal business.” He let this settle in.  
“How much does he owe?” Lennier asked reluctantly as Delenn stared at her lap.  
“In the interests of law and order, Mr. Garibaldi has fronted the money. It came to two hundred credits.”  
“That is all that it costs to purchase one of your people?” Neroon remarked derisively.  
“For an hour, apparently so. As I said, I don't condone it, but that's what she charges. And there is one more issue ...”  
“What other transgressions have occurred in this miserable place?” Neroon muttered.  
“Nothing significant. Petty theft, but that was taken care of at the time; they don't understand commerce at all, which is only to be expected, really. No, this is something different.” He turned to Delenn. “I've been ordered by my government to offer Niann and his whole group the opportunity to live here, on Babylon 5. EarthGov would then take charge of their ship for safe keeping. It was after all myself, acting for Earth Force, who located it in the first place.”  
“We must decline this offer,” Delenn said evenly and without anger. “They are Minbari and we have every intention of repatriating them.” Sinclair was relieved for a moment to have Neroon there, as his presence seemed to have ameliorated the response he'd expected she'd give. Still, he had to argue his conscience.  
“With all due respect, Delenn, they've been a sovereign people for hundreds of years. They're not, as the events today demonstrate, members of your culture. I believe they should have the right to decide what to do for themselves.”  
“I would expect such an anarchist suggestion from a Human,” Neroon scoffed. Delenn touched his arm to restrain him from further remarks. Neroon stared at her hand as if she'd just stabbed him.  
“You and I shall discuss this matter at another time, Commander,” Delenn told Sinclair, pointedly cutting Neroon out. “In the meanwhile, it is, as you have noted, quite late. I suggest we all retire for the evening and reconvene tomorrow.” Sinclair bowed his head and then stood up.  
“Goodnight then, Ambassador. Alyt, Mr. Lennier.”   
“Lennier, you may also leave; I wish to have a private word with the Alyt.”  
“Yes, Delenn,” he obeyed with relief. Once they were gone, Delenn stood back up and lit into Neroon.  
“I should have you stripped of your rank for your behavior this evening!” she threatened him. “Not only challenging my authority but doing so in front of the Commander? This is entirely unacceptable, Neroon. It is not your place to question, only to obey!”  
“I have the obligation to carry out the wishes of the Council. That gives me right to ...”  
“It gives you nothing!” she snapped. “Satai Minnar did not speak for the entirety of the Council but for his own interests.”  
“The Religious Caste cannot be permitted to have undue influence or exclusive access to these, our lost brethren.”  
“Nor can the Warrior Caste! You know perfectly well that I represent all of Minbar here. The activities aboard Babylon 5 and our dealings with the others who come here are my responsibility, not Minnar's and most certainly not yours.”  
“To allow that Human, Sinclair, to take a denn'bok ...”  
“Is also my right.” She drew herself up tall and peered down on him where he sat. “Hand me yours. Now.”  
“Delenn!” he protested, wide-eyed.  
“Now.” Shaking with pent-up rage, he slowly and mechanically complied. “Good. Do not forget again before whom you stand, Neroon. You believed, however inaccurately, that you were following the will of the Council, so I will forgive you for tonight's indiscretions. I will not do so again.” She rolled the closed pike around in her hands, torturing him silently.  
“Yes, Satai Delenn.”  
“You may meet with the representatives of the lost crew so that you can report that you have done so to Satai Minnar. But the decision of what will be done with them is not your concern. And you will not again complain of the Commander's possession of Niann's denn'bok. Do you understand?”  
“Yes, Satai Delenn.” Delenn smiled the slightest smile at his submission.  
“Here then,” she said, handing him back his weapon, “remember your place.” Neroon bowed. “Now leave. You may stay in guest quarters or return to your ship. The choice is yours.”  
“Yes, Satai Delenn.” 

Still trembling, Neroon retreated to the hallway where he heard the noise of a fight and what sounded a little like Lenn'a. He hurried to investigate and to his surprise looked through a doorway only to discover Sinclair struggling to separate two tall and strange looking Minbari men. Sinclair immediately registered his presence. 

“A little help here, Alyt?” he asked, a moment before he was knocked to his knees and the two Minbari returned to grappling with each other. Neroon stood still, for the moment uncertain what was taking place and whose aid he should go to. Sinclair got back up and growled at the men in the variant of Lenn'a Neroon had heard but couldn't understand, and then put himself between the two combatants again. “Neroon?” he asked a second time, and the Warrior entered the room and pulled away one of the raging men, who was reaching for a broken chair leg. Sinclair barked at them in the unknown tongue and they reluctantly stopped struggling.   
“What in Valen's Name is happening here?” Neroon demanded. Sinclair ran his hand through his hair and opened his jacket in what seemed to have become a daily ritual.  
“Alyt Neroon, meet Naia Burell and Naia Trenan, Niann's seconds,” he panted, then addressed them once more in Lu'shon. “That's enough! Niann is not dying. No one is moving up the ranks today. Knock it off!” Neroon grimaced at the Human's ability to speak to them when he could not. “They thought, Alyt,” Sinclair told Neroon, “that Niann is going to die. That prompted them to fight to determine who would take his place as leader of their people.”  
“That is not how a new leader is chosen,” Neroon informed him emphatically, offended by the claim. Sinclair nodded and let go of Trenan, still watching him carefully.  
“It is for them. Fortunately without their denn'boks it was going to be very difficult for one of them to kill the other.”  
“Kill?” Neroon huffed, “Minbari do not kill Minbari!”   
“That may be true for your people, Neroon,” Sinclair acknowledged sympathetically, “but not for them. This is the second time I've had to break up a den'sha involving them.”  
“Den'sha? The den'sha is a thing of the distant past. Minbari do not kill ...”  
“Their ancestors left your homeworld before Valen arrived, Neroon. They know nothing of his laws or philosophy.” Neroon frowned back, having difficulty believing any of it.  
“What language were you speaking in?”   
“It's Lu'shon.”  
“Lu'shon? No one speaks that any more.”  
“So I've been told. But I've been learning it in order to communicate with them.” Despite himself, Neroon was impressed.  
“That is … commendable.”  
“Thank you. You can release Burell now; he won't fight any longer … will you? Now clean this place back up and I won't tell Niann what you were up to,” Sinclair instructed. Burell shook his head and began straightening out his clothes. Trenan looked abashed and then punched Burell on the shoulder in what for them was conciliation. Burell hit him back and looked to Sinclair for approval. Neroon took a good look at them, with their unusual, pale uniforms and strange, perforated crests.  
“I have never seen anyone like them before,” he admitted aloud. “They left before Valen, you say?”  
“Yes. I have their obedience only through the ritual of shel'fa'ra.”  
“Shel'fa'ra? How do you know of shel'fa'ra and the den'sha?”  
“I make it my business to learn about everything that happens on Babylon 5,” Sinclair smiled, “and Delenn and Lennier are very knowledgeable sources. I should have asked you, Alyt, if you need accommodations for the night?”  
“No, I will return to the Ingata.” Neroon paused. “I am surprised you nearly held your own against two Minbari Warriors,” he observed. Sinclair smiled modestly, but then Neroon dropped the inevitable insult with a smug expression. “They must be extremely fatigued by the day's events.”  
“Well, thank you for your assistance,” Sinclair said cooly with another look back at the now silent and chastened pair. He and Neroon walked out into the hall and went their separate ways.


	35. Chapter 35

As he neared his quarters, an exhausted Sinclair realized that he still had another battle to fight before he went to bed. He was relieved to find Sakai there sleeping; she might still be angry but at least she hadn't moved out. While he sat on the edge of his side of the bed and started to take off his shoes, she stirred awake.

“Jeff?” He turned to look at her.  
“I was right; it was Niann. He gave Luna my name.”  
“I owe you an apology then ...”  
“Don't worry about it,” he said quietly, “although I have to admit I'd have thought you'd have more faith in me.” Sakai sat up.  
“I should have. But what was I supposed to think when a woman in a purple wig and thigh-high boots showed up at the door and told me that you owed her for various sex acts?”  
“That it had to be some kind of mistake.” She nodded apologetically.  
“You're right. But she insisted she was at the right place and that you owed her money.”  
“That's not me.”  
“No, it's not.” She paused. “I was way out of line for accusing you.”  
“Well that was easy,” Sinclair smiled.  
“What do you mean?”  
“When have either one of us ever apologized without a long fight first? I think we've finally got this relationship thing worked out.”  
“And it only took us fifteen years,” she smiled back. “Oh, I feel so stupid right now ...” He rubbed her thigh briefly.  
“Yeah, well, let's just forget about the whole thing.” He paused, then grinned. “Besides, I didn't even find her all that attractive. I don't know what Niann was thinking.”  
“Very funny. What did he have to say for himself?”  
“Nothing; he'd gotten separated from Lennier and the others, did his thing with her, then before we could find him he went into a bar, drank a beer and went berserk. And just now I had to stop his seconds from killing one another so they could take over. It's been quite a day. And if that wasn't enough, Neroon showed up.”  
“The one who took this place apart that day looking for a body?”  
“Uh huh. But this time he's locking horns with Delenn instead.” He stood up and finished getting undressed. “All I want now is a long, hot shower and at least six hours of sleep.”  
“Then you probably won't like hearing that I used up the months' water allotment this morning washing my hair. You're stuck with vibe.” Unable to muster up any surprise, Sinclair nodded softly to himself.  
“It's been that kind of day.”

 

TO BE CONTINUED ...


End file.
